2 Little Girls
by IWantMaStix
Summary: Santana is the new girl at McKinley.  Brittany doesn't wanna be her friend but she can't seem to help herself, even after discovering that Santana is super-messed up.  Rated M for future chapters.  Includes some Quitt, if such a thing exists.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Lord Tubbington was gonna be so upset. It was 1:00 and I'd forgotten to Tivo "The Millionaire Matchmaker" for him. I was such a bad mother.

_Maybe there was a way to get out of English class..._

I tugged at my blonde hair and looked up as someone strolled into the classroom.

"Everyone, we have a new student joining us today," Mrs. Templeton spoke gently. "Her name is Santana Lopez." She swiveled to face the new girl. "Santana...that's interesting. You're Hispanic?"

Santana was wearing a black leather jacket over a tight, red dress. It was like she was trying to be a boy and a girl at the same time. She probably smoked behind McKinley with the football team after school and shoplifted from Victoria's Secret on the weekends.

The corner of her mouth formed a smirk. "Yeah, I'm Hispanic. Lopez? Santana? It's great to know that even the teachers who don't teach math can still put two and two together."

Mrs. Templeton blushed. "Well, umm, thank you Santana."

"You're welcome." She smiled again, her dark eyes shooting out in my direction.

I promptly put my head down on my desk.

"Yes, so Santana is coming to us from...oh, geez," Mrs. Templeton said. "Sorry, where was it again, dear?"

"Lima Heights Adjacent," she replied, rubbing the edge of her calf with the toe of a black boot.

Black jacket, black shoes, even her backpack was black. It was such a sad color with no feelings.

"Oh, that's only just across town."

"That's right," Santana answered, the end of her sentence drawing its way up into the air.

"Okay, well, you can sit down now. Anywhere..."

But before Mrs. Templeton could finish, Santana Lopez from Lima Heights Adjacent had slid into the empty seat beside me, her brown eyes grinning their way into my blue ones. "Hey, what's up?" she whispered. Her bag fell into the slot between our open chair legs.

The way she was looking at me then was like some kind of secret, a locker combination I could never forget once the door had been popped open. Just one turn. That was all it took.

I fiddled with my tragus piercing and looked down at my desk. On its surface, scratched with a pocket knife was: "Rachel Berry has a dick."

"What's your name?" she asked.

When I looked up to catch her gaze I noticed how deep her eyes actually were, how dark they seemed set against her gray shadow. She had fake lashes on too. She'd glued them there and they were blinking up and down like an alligator's mouth ready to swallow me.

I had to look out the window, look somewhere else. But her nose was perfect, like God had pinched it there out of clay. And her cheeks made pretty pink balloons when she smiled and her mouth was so full that it made me wanna lean in and kiss it.

I wished I could just keep staring at her. If she was so beautiful, maybe her insides were beautiful too. But no. NO. She was clearly just another one of THEM. The next thing out of her mouth, I was certain, would be some jab against my clothing. _"What the fuck are you wearing? A cat sweater? You look like my grandmother. You know, if she was drunk and shit." _Then she would laugh like a scream in my ears and I would hang my head and make a fist under the desk like I always did.

"What's your name?" she repeated.

"Brittany," I uttered.

"Cool," she breathed.

She looked me up and down, but she didn't laugh. Not at all. Not even a little.

"Santana?" Mrs. Templeton interrupted. "Were you taking Advanced English at your previous high school? Probably not..." she said under her breath. "Well, it might be a little hard to keep up but just try, okay?"

Santana turned towards the front of the classroom. "Well, actually I was studying classical Japanese, but my mother made me quit when Maruyama Sensei asked us to describe our oppai in haiku form. Anyways, I'm sure I'll be okay studying the language of all the advanced white people who've demeaned my race for years now. No problem." She made an OK sign with her painted-black fingers and winked.

Mrs. Templeton's face screwed itself into a question mark. Some of the other kids giggled.

Santana's head was back on me then, the sweetest beam passing her lips. "Oppai means tits, by the way." She pressed her hand into my knee, a shock rolling through me. "Hey, you got an extra pen?" she asked. "I'm an idiot. I fucking forgot mine. First day of school too. Nice impression I make."

"Yeah, sure," I mumbled, digging through my canvas rucksack.

I was there but not there, thinking too hard but then not at all. My body split in two, into Brittany S. Pierce and into the girl being touched by _her_. It was just like that movie about the man with two heads.

Santana's fingers slid across the side of my leg and fell off, my body coming back together again in a jolt. I coughed, jamming a palm over my Dr. Pepper Lip Smackered lips.

"You okay?" she asked. She put her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm fine," I said, stabbing a Hello Kitty! multi in her general direction. "Sorry for all the colors. I like all colors. I just can't choose."

"Wow, it's Japanese," she commented, rubbing the tip of her finger over Hello Kitty!'s face. "This is a coincidence of capital proportions." She grinned and clicked a rainbow out into the air. Down blue, down yellow, down pink, down green, down red. "You like all colors, huh?" She ripped a piece of paper from her notebook. "I like red." The paper sat in front of her, as rough and ragged as her smoker's voice. She ran that red across it, a series of numbers and her name with a little heart replacing the O in Lopez.

I folded my arms across my chest.

"Anyways, here," she whispered, shoving the paper into my fist. Her hand stumbled against my breasts to reach it. "Now we can talk to each other. You know, outside of school and shit. I might need help _advancing _my English." She gave a little rolling laugh.

"I'm not really a phone person," I said quietly. "I don't even have a cell."

But I don't think she heard me. She was like a wall in front of me, a wall of glittering black stone.

No way was I gonna call her. No way ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I was coming out of Glee Club when I noticed a cloud of black hair before me. It was 5:00 and she was still hanging around.

Well, I couldn't smell any smoke...

What was she doing? A stack of papers was in her hand, her loose backpack slipping off of one skinny shoulder.

"Brittany!" she exclaimed.

For a moment I thought of shoving my headphones over my ears and pretending I couldn't hear her. I saw my sneakers running down the hallway, my cat sweater flapping behind me like Superman's cape. In minutes I'd be home, in my room and alone again.

Instead I smiled back at her. "Hi. What are you doing?"

"I heard that McKinley has some lameass Glee Club after school, so I decided I'd put some flyers together," she said angling what was in her hand out towards me.

Yellow paper, black ink, her name and a picture of a microphone with "ROCK BAND" in bold block letters.

"You sing?" I asked.

"When I feel like it," she said with a shrug. She took the papers from me, her fingertips sliding across mine. "You wanna be in my band?"

Her fingers were still there, still on me. I could see their dark smudges, could feel the hum of them running through every inch of my blood. My heart gave a hammer against my ribs. I quickly passed the flyers back to her and took a breath.

"Well, actually, _I'm_ in the Glee Club. Mr. Schue doesn't give me any solos though. I just dance with Mike in the background while Finn and Rachel sing Journey songs about their epic love for each other."

"What?" Santana laughed, cupping a palm over her right ear. "Sorry, I don't know any of those people. And I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear you say you were in _Glee Club_, 'cuz your coolness points just like went down by a million."

I turned away. She _was_ one of THEM. Of course she was. I ducked my head into my long blonde hair and then I really did think of running, but I couldn't 'cuz my foot got stuck in somebody's gum.

_Gross._

"Shit, sorry," Santana whispered. "I guess you actually like the fucking Glee Club." She put her hand on my shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "Are you good?"

"Good at what?"

"No, I mean, are you _good_? Are you okay?"

"Oh." I shrugged. "I guess."

She stood there in front of me with those flyers in her hand, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Sorry. I'm kind of a bitch."

"Yeah," I said, rubbing my sneaker against the floor tile. I watched the wad of gum melt into a string and make a pink line through the air.

"What'd you do?" Santana asked, leaning into me. "Step in gum or something?

"Yeah," I repeated. "It won't come off."

"No, of course it won't. It's not gonna come off unless you scrape it off."

She wadded up her flyers and shoved them into her back pocket. "C'mere," she said, sticking her hand out and grabbing for mine. "I'll help you." She nodded towards the bathroom.

"No, I don't care," I answered, pulling away. "I have to go home now."

She was staring at me, studying me, reading me like a newspaper. I could feel my stupid one-word answers gathering on her skin. I could feel her wiping me away.

"Good luck with making a band," I muttered, my sticky gum foot headed for the door.

"Wait, wait, Brittany, wait," Santana pleaded. Her hand fell on my arm again. From the corner of my eye I saw her unzip her backpack, dig around its bottom and come up with my Hello Kitty! pen. "I should give this back to you. So here."

I gazed at the rainbow of colors sealed tightly in their plastic shell. Beside it, Santana's frank face was still so beautiful. Her eyes sparkled, splashed on me, the strap of her bag swinging to scrape my elbow.

And, just for that moment, I didn't see anything bad in her at all. She didn't smoke. She wasn't laughing at me on the inside. She wasn't one of THEM. I saw nothing in her brown eyes but calm things, like a hundred sleeping cats.

"You can keep it," I told her. "Leave it in your bag though. So you don't have to ask anyone else for one."

"Okay, sure," she replied with a wink. "I like _this_ one anyway." She grasped the pen, giving me a weird wave with it still clutched in her fist. "See ya tomorrow."

"Bye."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Brit, honey, try to make something more than pasta tonight, okay?" my mom gently persuaded.

Brosnan looked up at me from her place on the couch, a smirk on her eight year-old face as Nickelodeon blared in the background.

My mother pressed her head to mine, her thick honey-colored hair scratching my cheek. "Your sister needs protein," she whispered. Her breath was warm. It smelled like cinnamon.

"Pasta has protein," I stated. "Seven grams per serving."

"Well, she's tired of it."

I glanced over at Brosnan as she stuck her tongue out at me. "I don't want any more spaghetti! It looks like snake hair. Can we have pizza?"

"No, you cannot have pizza," my mom interjected. "Pizza costs twelve dollars. And no Coke tonight either. That's why you had all those nightmares last time."

My mother turned back to me, a wet kiss near my nose. "Chicken or fish, okay?"

"Rocko's Modern Life" was on. This episode was great!

"Brit?" She ran her fingers through my hair.

"Chicken or fish," I said. "Got it."

"Your father's resting in our bedroom, so don't bother him. His back's been acting up today." She bent into me again so that my sister wouldn't hear. "He's out of the Vicodin now so he's in a lot of pain."

I buried my head in my sweater. Heffer was so funny. What kind of cartoon character would I be, if I were in a cartoon? Clearly a cat! Definitely a cat!

"I should be back around midnight. Get Brosnan to bed _early_, Brit. 11:30 isn't early. Right?"

"Right," I nodded, pressing two fingers to my forehead. I ran them over its surface. Sometimes I had to do that to keep my true thoughts from leaking out.

My mom kissed me again and left for work, the door locked behind her.

A cat in a cartoon. A big, fat, orange cat that slept 14 hours a day and ate people food and got her belly rubbed by someone nice. That was what I wanted to be, but it probably wouldn't have been very funny.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Lunchtime always sucked.

I sat in a big group with the other Glee kids: egomaniac Rachel and gassy-infant-look Finn, Mercedes the weaveless wonder, gay boy Kurt, Artie who had wheels for legs, fake vampire Tina, juvenile delinquent Puck, dancing Asian Mike and then Quinn. Just Quinn. I didn't feel like making up a funny description for her in my head.

We used to be best friends, me and Quinn.

Now, whenever I looked at her, all I could see was her lips on mine in the locker room after Cheerio practice, her hazel eyes burning me and her hands gripping my wrists.

"Don't you dare tell anyone," she'd hissed.

She knocked me into the wall and kept kissing. After a while it became just another part of practice, like the cool-down, and I followed the flip of her tiny red skirt back towards the showers promptly at 4:35 P.M.

"I'm not gay, you know," Quinn told me. "I'm really not that into this. I like Finn Hudson. But we're cheerleaders, so we can do whatever we want."

"What do you mean?" I'd asked her.

She never answered so I never asked again.

_"I'm not gay, you know..."_

The truth was I liked it. I liked how soft Quinn's body was, the sugary taste of her mouth and the sharp sting of her nails running down my arms. It was all so different from how the football players felt.

I liked it. I wasn't supposed to like it.

That was the first time I realized I was different. Alone. I quit cheerleading and joined Glee. I thought that hanging out with the other weird kids would help me feel better. It didn't. And then Quinn had to go and join Glee too, something about spying on Finn 'cuz she was worried that Rachel would scream him off into the Netherworld with her huge voice. I sunk into my headphones and my eighties music, my big shirts with goofy designs on them, laughing along with everyone else.

But lunchtime always sucked. I didn't have any friends, not really. I only had acquaintances, people I surrounded myself with to feel less alone, to look less alone. Funny then that I always felt the most alone when I wasn't.

"Hey, Brittany, are you going to Karofsky's thing on Saturday?" Quinn asked. She still sat next to me everyday like nothing had ever happened. Her wide eyes flamed as she pushed her shoulder-length blonde hair away from her face.

I took a bite of my peanut butter sandwich before I could answer. A wad of dry rye stuck to the roof of my mouth, a quick swig of water to wash it down. "I don't think so."

"Why not? He wants to use us as a band. You could sing for once," she said, laughing. "You know, like you're supposed to in Glee Club."

Mike glared at her from across the table. "There's nothing wrong with just dancing."

"Whatever," Quinn said, waving her hand through the air.

I shrugged. "I've gotta babysit my sister. My mom's working."

Quinn grabbed a French fry from the wilted paper boat in front of her. She easied it into her mouth, chewing quietly. "Well, that is not cool at all. He wants you to come."

"Who?"

"Dave Karofsky!" she exclaimed. She pinched my arm. "He likes you. You didn't know?"

"No." Another shrug. "Well, he's all right, I guess."

"Honestly, Brittany, sometimes I wonder about you," Quinn whispered. She shook her head and returned to her fries and soda.

"Brittany!" A voice ran up behind me, a full-on hurricane, its body slamming itself into the metal back of my chair.

I saw Quinn's quarter-sized eyes swim upwards.

It was her again, her wavy black hair swinging against her shoulders and rippling down to scrape her breasts. Across them was a low-cut purple shirt with black headphones on it: "HEAD GOES WRONG BY NOISE."

"Hey," I said softly, my arms sliding into my lap to clutch at my leggings. All of the leftover peanut butter formed a clot in my throat. Suddenly my mouth was too dry to say another word. I reached for my bottle of water in a clumsy grasp, the sleeves of today's HAPPY shirt too loose.

Santana grabbed the bottle before it tipped over. "Watch out." Her smile filled her jaw, her right hand holding that water and pushing it in my direction.

I took it, uttering a tight "Thanks."

"Can I sit down?" Santana asked, nodding towards the empty chair two down from Quinn.

Quinn was still staring at her, looking up at her as if she were Godzilla or something, even though they were probably the same height. "Umm, excuse me for interrupting your interruption, but who are you?"

"Santana," she replied, smiling. "Lopez." She gazed at Quinn then the same way she had looked at me in Mrs. Templeton's class. She was unlocking her. She held her hand up and curved her fingers down to say hello.

Quinn slid out of her seat and grabbed her book bag. "I'm done." The side of her chair struck my leg. "See you later, Brittany. You'd better not be late to science again or Mr. Sullivan will really kill you this time."

"Yeah, I know," I uttered.

Santana took a seat in her new chair as Quinn walked away. Everyone else's eyes automatically flew up to meet hers.

"Hello, I'm Rachel Berry, the most talented student at McKinley High School," Rachel spoke quickly, extending her hand to Santana. "I'm sure you've read about my abilities. My reputation precedes me. Cities as far away as Akron have published articles about me. I've starred in numerous McKinley productions such as Les Miserables, Spring Awakening, Rent, and my personal favorite Wicked."

Santana looked at Rachel's open hand and scoffed. "Okay, bye." She stood up in a flash and leaned her head into mine to whisper in my ear. "Talk to me in the hallway?"

I scanned the rest of the Glee Club. Kurt was popping a carrot stick into hummus and chewing on it like a proper 19th century lady. Mike had his hands up over his head, practicing imaginary dance moves. Puck had just shot the cap from his 7-Up bottle across the cafeteria at Jacob Ben Israel. It was stuck in his Jewish cloud hair like a penny from Heaven.

"Christ, he didn't even feel that," Puck exclaimed. "It's like his head has permanent insulation."

"Yeah, okay," I whispered back to Santana. I stood up and pushed my chair in and no one noticed when I disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"You weren't in English this morning," Santana said, her body bent into the wall but her gaze completely on me.

"Yeah, I know," I answered, pressing an errant finger into those bumpy parts of the paint of the hallway bricks. "I can't always make it to first period."

"Oh," she spoke softly. "'Cuz of your family or something?"

My eyes followed hers as they joined mine. I couldn't keep seeing them. Another poke to the wall. "My family has some problems, I guess. But doesn't every family?"

She was still watching me, her face softening, her hands dancing across her thigh. "You okay?" she whispered. And then one palm fell on my wrist, calming my own fingers. "Brittany?"

Her skin was warm, like a blanket, curled over mine. It felt so nice. It was Quinn's last year. It was sweeter than Quinn's. I almost forgot how bitchy Santana had been to me yesterday about Glee Club.

"Brittany?" she repeated.

I wanted to say her name back, but I couldn't. I couldn't even think it. It was like when your cat died- when you were a kid- and you got a new one and gave it a new name but you just couldn't bring yourself to say it out loud. Like somehow, by saying it, death could be made real and the new thing would be real too. Forever.

"I'm fine," I answered, smiling up at her. My eyes fell upon her hand, still resting there on mine.

She drew herself away. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"So, anyways, I wanted to apologize to you for insulting your lame Glee Club. I shouldn't have said that, I mean even though joining a rock band would be infinitely cooler than hanging out with that Rachel Berry chick. Seriously, she needs to get fucked." Santana put a hand to her mouth and hung her head, her caramel skin blushing a little underneath. "Shit, I just don't know how to be nice."

I giggled. "No, Rachel _is _kind of annoying."

Santana looked up, her long, fake lashes fluttering. "Well...umm...I was kind of wondering if you wanted to hang out after school today. After your cornyass Glee Club. I'll wait for you."

"Today?"

"Yeah."

I gave her a nervous laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Why not?"

I bent my head into my shoulder blades. "You don't even know me."

She beamed, scratching her cheek with one thumb. "Yeah, but I don't know _anyone _here. So why not you?"

I shook my head. "Nobody wants to know me. I'm kind of weird, you know."

"Oh, fuck off," she hushed me, slapping a hand on my arm and squeezing tight. Her eyes locked into mine. "So, see ya at 5:00 then?" Her short nails dragged a line across my shirt sleeve.

"Okay."

Santana smiled.

I smiled back. "Hey, if you sing...you know, why don't you come to Glee Club with me? Mr. Schue will let anyone join."

Santana opened her mouth, her whole body racked with laughter. "Not a chance in hell!" she said. "I'm not a loser."

I could only nod, watching her purple back fade into a bruise as she tramped out of the hallway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

She was waiting for me on the front wall of the school, kicking brick with her heels. On her lap lay that black backpack. Her arms hugged its surface, holding tight like a pillow. The skinny wires of earbuds draped themselves around her knees. She sang to herself.

_"And when I call_

_Will you walk gently _

_Thru my shadow..."_

God. Her voice.

It sounded like the weed Puck had made me smoke with Quinn at the beginning of this year, to loosen us up for Sectionals. It sounded like all of the boys I'd fucked, their moans in my ear as I tried to forget that Quinn existed. It sounded like sleeping, when Lord Tubbington and Charity draped themselves over both of my legs. It was deep and warm and sexy and dangerous.

I stood there in the grass watching her, the way she pressed one hand along her chest to feel the song, the way the other hung limply in the air beside her cheek. She swayed her head. Her eyes were closed. It was like she was somewhere else, like she didn't care at all that she was seated in front of a high school in Lima, Ohio where anyone could just walk by.

And then her eyes sprung open and she caught me. "Hey! C'mere!" Santana shouted with a wave.

I looked down at my sneakers and took a few steps forward. "Hey."

"Hey," she echoed.

"What's that you were singing?" I asked, peering at her.

"Oh, you heard me?" she asked, making a face. "Well, damn, that's embarrassing."

"Huh?"

She smirked, shoving the lit screen of her iPod in my direction. "Stevie Nicks," she said. "I kind of love her. I've been trying to get her raspiness down by smoking cigars after breakfast every morning."

"You shouldn't smoke. It's not good for your health. Or your pets'."

Santana laughed, leaping off the bricks and thudding to the ground in front of me. "Well, it's a good thing I don't have any pets. And that I don't give a fuck about my health." Her hand landed on my back. "You wear some weird shit, you know. What is this? HAPPY? Are you really _this_ happy? And why are your shirts so big? I mean, it's not like you're a white rhino or anything." Her fingers slid down the length of me, falling just short of my butt.

"They're good for dancing. It's good if your clothes are loose," I explained. I grabbed at the hem of my shirt and dragged myself away from her.

She was gazing at me, her eyes glittering, a faint smile crossing her lips. "Okay. But I mean, you'd probably get a lot more action if you wore shit like this," she said, running her palms down her sides. "I look smoking hot."

I stuck a finger in my mouth and sucked. Was I supposed to tell her that was true?

"Well, maybe you're not into guys," Santana whispered.

My head whirled to face her. "Yes, I am. I've had sex with like every football player at this school."

"All right, whatever," she said with a shrug. "Let's go to my place, okay?" She swung her backpack over her shoulder, lifting her long black hair out of the way. I watched it drip in waves along her breasts.

Because my mouth had gone numb and I couldn't answer, she tugged at my shirt sleeve and asked again. "Okay?" Her fingers near my wrist scrunched up all of the fabric.

_Santana, Santana, Santana..._

It was such a badass name. Like a guy's. Like a guy who smoked blunts and didn't have a care in the world, sitting here after school and singing, talking back to teachers, his loud mouth shielding him from anyone who might give a damn.

My mother would be upset. She'd be upset if I didn't go straight home.

It took a moment to say, the weight of her name in my brain finally pushing it out through my mouth. "Okay, Santana."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Her bedroom was full of black things, just like her jacket and book bag. There were black sheets on the bed, black pillows, a black dresser and a black chair at her desk, a black lamp, a big Sony Bravia on the side wall and a Che Guevera poster on the other. Even the walls were black. It was like an underground cocoon for a black butterfly.

"Wow, you're rich," I remarked.

Santana made a face, scratching the tip of her perfect nose with one finger. "No, _my_ _parents_ are rich. My father's a doctor."

She pulled the bedroom door shut and then we were closed in. In her cocoon.

I counted the pieces of clothing on her floor. One, two, three, seven. "Don't you have to clean your room?" I asked. "My mom gives me gold stars for every chore I do. When I get ten stars she buys me ice cream. The good kind."

"That's great," Santana said with a laugh.

"Yeah."

She bent down to pick up the stuff I was staring at. She tossed them in her huge closet, right back on the floor.

I was staring at her ass. Staring, staring, staring. I looked away and took a seat on the edge of her bed, pressing my shoes into the fake zebra skin rug beneath it. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" I asked her.

She sighed. "Nope, it's just me," her sentence going up at the end just like it had for Mrs. Templeton.

"I have a sister."

"Great," she said. But her voice was tired. She didn't care. "Okay, quick, favorite band. Or singer." Santana gave me a grin, walking over to her stereo. "You know, since you're in the Glee Club you must know loads about music."

I shrugged. "Not really. I dance." I chewed at my index finger. "But I like eighties music, I guess."

"What? Seriously?"

"It's what my parents like."

She came up in front of me and put her palms on both of my shoulders. "Yeah, but what do _you_ like?"

I didn't answer her 'cuz I didn't know. I'd always just followed what everyone else around me was into- my mom, my dad when he wasn't sick, Brosnan, Quinn...

"Okay, so it seems like the art education at McKinley is like superlacking. So I'm gonna play some music for you now," Santana replied, wandering back to her stereo and sliding a CD inside.

"Stevie Nicks?" I asked, gazing up at her.

She shook her head. "No. Something else." She pressed PLAY and the room filled up with the opening chords of a sad guitar and a sad piano, twin voices singing:

_"You only know what I want you to,_

_I know everything you don't want me to..."_

Santana gave me a soft smile and pulled herself alongside me on the bed, her narrow thighs scraping mine. She dug her palms into the black sheets and stared off into the distance as the song continued.

_"I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back,_

_The less I give the more I get back..._

_Ooh, your hands can heal, your hands can bruise,_

_I don't have a choice but I still choose you,_

_I don't love you_

_but I always will..."_

I turned my head to sneak a glance at her. Her eyes were on the stereo, the blinking numbers of the CD track, her dark eyes filling with tears. She pressed her fingers deeper into the sheets and hung her head. I watched one tear slide down her cheek and strike her chin. She sniffed, quickly wiping it away and rubbing it onto the bed.

I thought maybe she'd switch the song off then, but she didn't. The guy's voice and the girl's voice came together at the end, singing so hard and so beautifully that it sounded like they would start crying at any moment. Just like Santana.

_"I don't love you_

_but I always will..."_

And then it was over and Santana jumped up and ran over to the stereo to press STOP.

"That was beautiful," I whispered.

"Yeah, it's my favorite song right now. It's like those guys are inside of my head." She bit her lip and peered at me from across the room, pushing a black strand of hair out of her wet eyes. "Fuck," she spoke with a choked laugh. "I didn't mean to cry. That was fucking lame and loserish."

I stood up and tiptoed over her zebra skin rug. I placed one hand on her arm. "No, it wasn't," I said softly. She twisted her head into my hand. Her hair smelled like watermelon.

"Yeah, I guess Rachel Berry probably cries all the time in your stupid Glee Club. She's in my math class with that Finn guy. I swear, they are forever eye-sexing each other, but it's so not hot at all. She looks like she'd jump out of the window crying if he ignored her for one day." Her eyes caught my fingers, still settled on her shirt. "Whatever." She pulled away from me.

My hand fell in front of her. I stretched it out , an open palm. "Take it," I said.

"What?"

"Come on, take it."

"Why?" she asked, irritated.

"It's a dance. Come on."

"I don't wanna dance."

"Come on," I repeated.

She stared at my hand for what felt like an hour, then finally closed her fingers around mine. They rubbed little hot sparks over my skin. I swallowed down those memories of Quinn in the locker room.

"Okay, I'll show you what to do," I said, clearing my throat. My eyes on hers, I dragged her into me and lifted her other hand into the air. My left foot moved to the outside of her right one. I felt her ankle graze mine.

She glanced at both of our bare feet. "No, I can't dance," she spoke sharply, letting me go. "Anyway, you should go. It's like seven. Your family probably has dinner waiting for you."

I let my empty hands fall at my side. "Okay," I said. But it wasn't true. My mom was always too tired to cook and my dad was always in bed.

Santana moved towards her dresser, picking up a tube of gloss and smearing it over lips. Her back was to me. She kept her back to me so I couldn't see her face. "You know, I don't think your Glee Club is that fucking lame," she replied. "And I don't really wanna start a rock band. I hate everyone. Why the hell would I wanna sing with them?" She twisted the cap back on her gloss and dropped it on the dresser, next to her lamp. "I wish I could sing somewhere though. It's the only time I really feel happy."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"My mom hates my singing," she spoke softly. "She says it's fucking useless and stupid. But music is like the only place I can escape. You know? Like the only place I can be away from her and feel safe."

"What do you mean? Why do you need to be away from her?" I asked.

Her black hair fell around her shoulders, her fingers running themselves over the wood of her dresser. "Whatever. She just wants me to find some hot, rich guy and marry him."

"You don't wanna marry a hot guy?" I asked, my eyes drifting up off of the floor and onto her thighs. Her ass.

She whirled around and sneered. "I'm only sixteen."

"Oh..."

"I'll walk you downstairs," she said, picking up my book bag and handing it to me.

I took it by one strap and clutched it to my chest as she opened her bedroom door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"You really should have gone to Dave's party, Brittany. It was great!" Quinn exclaimed, taking a bite of her salad. "Puck somehow managed to get a keg off of Hightown Liquors and Rachel was trying to be cool, but you know she can't drink, or do anything cool at all. She wound up in the bathroom puking for nearly an hour! So, while she was sick, I grabbed Finn and made out with him! He told me he saw fireworks afterwards. I am so in, Brittany."

"Oh, yeah?" I tore the crusts off my sandwich and rolled them into tiny balls.

It was just us today, just me and Quinn. Everyone else from Glee Club was off painting a poster for Mr. Schue, but Quinn and I were too cool for that.

"Yeah, I really don't know what he sees in her. She's such a man-hands tranny mess," Quinn remarked. Her face fell a little, her hand clutching her plastic fork as her eyes zoomed up to meet mine. "I'm pretty, right, Brittany?"

"Yeah, of course," I said softly.

Quinn smiled, her sad smile, the one she only showed sometimes. She lay a hand on my thigh under the table and stroked my leg. I pretended it was just my cat's paw.

"Thank you," Quinn said in her low, nasally voice.

I was so tired of peanut butter. I scanned the cafeteria, searching for Santana. I hadn't seen her in almost a week. Maybe she was gone forever. In and out just like that.

Quinn looked across at me, chewing a shard of pale green lettuce. "Dave asked where you were."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Why don't you just go out with him? He's not that bad."

I looked down at her hand on the thigh of my pants. She met my eyes and slid her palm back up onto the table.

"Okay, maybe," I told her.

Peanut butter sucked. It really sucked. I made four little balls. Squish, squish, squish, squish. I flattened them inside of my Ziploc bag, then stood up and pushed my chair in. "I'm gonna go outside for a while. I wanna feel the sun on my face."

"What?" Quinn asked, her hazel eyes narrowing. "Why? Are you getting sick?"

"I'm fine," I told Quinn.

"Okay then," she said, giving me a face. She looked around the empty table she was sitting at now. "See you later."

I waved and tossed my bag in the trash. My backpack over my shoulder and headphones on my ears, I headed out into the courtyard. There were a few other kids on the grass, clotted together in their cliques, eating and chatting and laughing. My footsteps carried me under a tree, the heavy autumn leaves glowing above my head like a halo of flames.

I scanned the ground, looking for her. The leaves confused me. How could it still be so warm out when the leaves had changed color already?

I hugged my arms across my chest. She wasn't there. Of course she wasn't. Maybe she was never coming back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

I tossed my book bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it. If I could just close my eyes for one minute. If I could just have one minute to myself...

Brosnan came running up, knocking into me. "Brit-Brit, Miriam took all my Barbies and won't give them back unless I give her five dollars. But I don't have five dollars."

I sighed, taking her little hand in mine. "Miriam sounds like a crappy friend."

Brosnan sighed. "Yes, she's terrible."

I looked straight into her blue eyes. They were just like mine but miniature-size, like my eyes were regular Hershey bars and hers were the ones you gave out at Halloween.

"What do you wanna play with Barbies for anyway?" I asked her. "If Barbie was a real woman she would be six feet tall and weigh a hundred pounds. It's strange."

"Really?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, really. If Barbie was real her head would be so much bigger than her body that she'd probably tip over and crack it on the sidewalk and die. Do you _really _wanna play with a toy like that?"

She shrugged. "I like her clothes."

I let go of her hand and unzipped my backpack, pressing five bucks into my sister's palm. "Here then. Give this to your crappy friend, Miriam. I need to be alone for a little while."

"Okay," she said, bolting up the stairs and away from me.

My fingers fell back on the zipper of my bag, my eyes drifting towards the ragged piece of paper inside. Scrawled red writing. Her name. Her number. I pulled it out and looked at it. Her letters were a little round and lumpy and the heart she'd drawn inside of Lopez slanted to the right.

I pressed the paper to my nose. It didn't smell like her. It smelled like me. Like the inside of my bag.

If I called her number, would she answer? Would she be there? What could I say that I wanted to say? What did I want to say?

I bit at my finger and shoved the white square back into my book bag. A quick zip and my hand fell on the remote.

It was 6:00. Cartoons were probably still on, on some channel.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Bent into the mirror of the empty third floor girls' bathroom, my hair was a tangled mess. My sweater was way too big and I'd thrown it on over white shorts and purple tights. I looked ridiculous.

The dance excuse was getting old. That's what Quinn said, eyeing me up in the hallway and giving me a shake of her head. She pulled me into the lockers, her soft hand gripping my bicep. "Brittany, you've gotta start dressing normally. I mean, I know we're in Glee Club now and no one in there is cool except for Puck and Finn, but _we're_ still cool. We're still Cheerios on the inside. Okay?" She smiled at me, pulling the glass turtle necklace I was wearing away from my throat. "Like seriously, this is just childlike."

"My dad bought it for me at the ocean."

"When, Brittany? Ten years ago?"

I looked down at the floor. No, eight, I thought.

It felt like it was choking me. I stared into the bathroom mirror and rubbed at the turtle's head. "Good luck," I whispered to it. "You're supposed to be good luck."

I twisted the faucet and splashed some water on my cheeks. A few drops slid down my wrist to stain my sleeve, making me colder than I already felt.

When I closed my eyes I saw Santana's. I felt her skin instead of the porcelain sink, pressing back at me. I saw her black hair behind my lids, swinging against her chest, her lips that I wanted to kiss, the curve of her back and her ass and her thighs in her bedroom.

_"I don't love you_

_but I always will..."_

My eyes came open and I pulled away, ready to stab my headphones over my ears and leap into the hallway. There were only a few minutes left before lunch ended and 6th period began. I could get one song in, maybe something by Paula Abdul. I was in a Paula Abdul mood. "Cold Hearted Snake" or "Straight Up." Those were good for dancing and they made my body feel like a light bulb was inside of it.

I slipped my headphones around my neck, my feet two steps from the door. "Bye, bathroom," I said.

Someone was crying. It was muffled and desperate, her sobs squashed into rustling toilet paper. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. It didn't stop. It was coming from the stall at the very back.

"Hello?" I asked the open room.

I heard the girl blow her nose and unlock the door.

A tired voice slid over my shoulder. "Hello," she whispered, her voice even deeper than usual from all of the tears drowning it.

Santana.

She was like a ghost, like a person I'd dreamed last night who was suddenly in real life.

"Are you okay?" I asked, following her with my eyes as she strolled towards me and past me, holding her leather jacket in one hand.

"Well, fuck, you caught me crying again. This is getting really embarrassing. Lucky it was you though," she said with a smile. "I can't let all of the losers that go to this school see me being just as sucky as them." She laughed a little to herself. "I didn't think there'd be anyone else on this floor right now."

I walked in her direction and she walked further away. Her brown eyes were laced with red spider webs. She perched at the sink near the tampon dispensers and turned the water on, dropping her jacket to the floor in a black puddle. From the metal box of paper towels on the wall, she shot out two brown squares and ran them under the tap, wiping gently at her bleeding mascara.

"Where were you?" I asked. "You haven't been in school all week."

"That's right. I met this guy downtown, like this hot black dentist. Well, I think he was a dentist. That's what he said while he was drilling me." Santana laughed, clutching the wad of wet paper towels in one hand and giving herself a grin in the mirror. "Anyway, we were pretty busy getting our mack on so I couldn't make it to school."

"Really?"

She bent down to pick up her jacket and I saw it on her hip, a purple-yellow bruise. I saw it for just a second. One second. And then I couldn't stop seeing it.

She pulled the jacket over her shoulders and promptly zipped it. "I'm skipping the rest of this shit day," she spoke matter-of-factly. "Wanna come?"

I thought of following her, touching her arm, holding her, comforting her. But I didn't make a good girl. I wasn't normal. I didn't know what I could do to make things better. So instead I stood in place, my sneakers rocking into the tile.

"Santana?" I asked.

"What?"

I pointed a finger through the air towards her side. "What happened?"

She blushed, wrapping her arms across her chest as tightly as she could. "What? Nothing! Nothing happened," she said defensively. "I just wanna get out of here. I'm not feeling higher education today. That's all. God, you know you don't have to have a reason for things all the time. Sometimes you just do what you want and say fuck it."

"There's always a reason," I said quietly. "Like how my sister told me her friend stole all her Barbies and she had to pay her five dollars to get them back. But I think my sister just wanted to buy some Reese's Cups instead."

Santana gave me a sad smile. She placed her cool, damp hands on both of my forearms. "You're so gullible, Brittany."

"No, I've never been to Lilliput."

Her palms on my arms curved up and down, massaging me. "I wish I could be like you," she whispered. She leaned in to kiss my cheek, the soft heat of her lips burning my skin. She lingered there for a second, her dark eyes drinking me in. Her hand reached up to stroke my necklace. She clutched it, rubbing its edges with her thumb, a few slips grazing my collarbone. "I like this. It's a fucking turtle," she said, laughing.

There was a bubble in my throat. I wanted to throw up. I looked down at her fingers so close to my breasts. My words fell hot upon them. "I don't think you met any hot dentist. Not really. What happened to you?"

"Oh, who cares?" she muttered. "Something's always happening, isn't it?" She jerked herself away from me, painting her body along the wall. "So you don't wanna come?"

She looked so tiny then, even though she _was_ a few inches shorter than me. But now she looked like a shadow. Like someone completely different.

"I can't," I breathed. "I can't miss any more classes."

The door swung open. A red-haired girl in an Abercrombie sweatshirt made a face at the two of us. "Sorry for interrupting, but some people actually _piss_ in here," she said.

I bit my lip and watched as Santana slipped out the gap between bathroom and hallway. Abercrombie Girl sneered. I ran past her and slammed myself into a corner stall, my butt on the toilet seat and my head in my hands. I'd wait for the red-haired girl to leave so that I could leave alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks so much for continuing to read and review, everyone! I hope you like the new chapters :)**

**Chapter 11**

Quinn grabbed my hand before Glee Club and yanked me into the empty Spanish classroom next door. I didn't even feel her warm fingers on me, burning me. I only stared up at the posters on the wall, knowing those words were words that Santana probably knew.

I didn't take Spanish. I took French, but there were too many French words in French. Maybe French words in Spanish were easier to say.

"Brittany, we need to talk," Quinn said sternly, gripping my face in both palms and swiveling me towards her eyes.

"What?" I asked.

"I need you to help me with Finn. I think we should go out with him together, as friends. This weekend to Breadstix. We can talk to him about Rachel and then..." She raised her tiny eyebrows and made her hazel eyes glitter.

"Then what?"

"Brittany, don't play stupid." Her hands fell off of my face and onto my shoulders, her nails digging into my shirt and drawing lines across the skin underneath. "I can get him if you help me."

I pulled away from her and stuck my finger in my mouth. "I don't want to, Quinn. I don't want to anymore."

"It doesn't mean anything, Brittany," Quinn whispered. "It doesn't mean we're gay if we do it for a boy."

_"It doesn't mean anything, it doesn't mean anything, it doesn't mean anything..."_

"But what about all the other times?" I asked softly.

Quinn blushed, glaring at me.

I peered down at her little, heart-shaped face. Even when she was mean she still looked so beautiful, like a porcelain doll. I didn't wanna break her.

"Okay, sorry. We can go if you want."

She gave me a sweet smile, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. "Thank you." She ran her fingers down over mine. "Let's try to sit next to him. Just follow my lead, okay?"

I nodded in silence, taking a picture in my head of Santana's Spanish words before Quinn pulled me out of the classroom.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

I lay my hands beneath my chin and leaned across my desk. Santana was doodling something in her notebook with my Hello Kitty! pen. No red this time, just black.

Her hair had lost its wave, a clutch of straight bangs falling over one brow. Her eyes were two chocolate almonds. She looked so much younger without any makeup on. She looked like the kid that she was instead of a badass.

From the front of the classroom, Mrs. Templeton read paragraphs out of The Scarlet Letter . I'd already read that book though. It was called "Easy A." Actually that was the movie version and I'd watched it with French subtitles, but close enough.

"Hey," I whispered over my arm. "Santana?"

She looked up. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

She slid her notebook across the desk to show me. It was full of a series of big and little swirls, like the kind you drew in elementary school and tried to make fill the whole page perfectly. She was halfway there.

I looked into her eyes, trying to see something she wouldn't show me. She gave me a slow blink and a quarter-moon smile.

"I am so fucking tired today," she muttered, pulling her notebook back into place under her forearm.

"Why? What'd you do yesterday?"

"What?" she asked. She stabbed my pen against her paper and made more swirls.

"When you skipped. What'd you do?"

"Nothing special. I just went to the park and sat there," she said. "I was lying on one of the sliding boards thinking up song lyrics. I got some capital ideas."

I think it was the first time she'd told me the truth about anything. I mean, the real truth.

"Oh," I breathed, catching a chunk of her in my vision.

She had a normal shirt on today that wasn't a tight, red dress or anything that clung to her boobs. She must have had ESP- Extra Special Perception- and sensed me staring at her, looking down at her chest for a second and grabbing the zipper of her black leather jacket. She quickly zipped it up so high that it almost struck her collarbone. Her knuckles were covered with tiny scratches. She lodged her stomach into the edge of the desk, her back as far away from the chair as possible.

"Did you find anyone for your band yet?" I asked.

She slid her eyes across the desk at me. "I'm not joining your stupid Glee Club," she remarked bitterly.

"I know." I stroked my chin with my fingers and dug it further into my hands. "You told me already. But you said you were writing songs so..."

"Sorry," Santana said, sucking her lower lip into her mouth and staring at me. She tapped her thumb along my Hello Kitty! pen then went back to her notebook.

"Hey." I looked down at my white sneakers on the gray floor. My feet looked HUGE. Were my feet really that big? They looked like a giant's feet, except that I didn't have curly hair all over the parts of my toes that could bend. "Hey, Santana?"

"What?" she answered.

I took a breath, looking back up at her. "Umm...do you wanna come over to _my _house this time?" I asked, my heart thudding against my ribs, threatening to shatter them into tiny stabbing pieces and kill me.

She peered at me through a haze of black hair. "Tonight?"

"Umm...yeah." I nodded.

Her quarter-moon smile grew into a half-moon, glowing dully against her skin. She went back to her paper. "After your Glee Club?" she asked, her eyes buried in those loopy swirls.

"Yeah, "I whispered, swallowing down my heartbeats. My feet, they were enormous. Really.

"Yeah, okay," Santana answered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

My mom hugged her close, those too-warm arms tangled in Santana's hair, strands of black staining my mom's sweater. "Well, aren't you beautiful!" she exclaimed. "You don't look like you should live in Ohio." She ran both hands down her cheeks, cupping her face in her palms. "So you're from South America?"

Santana's eyes drifted towards me, her embarrassed smile colliding with mine. "No. Lima Heights Adjacent."

"Oh, I see. But your family is Mexican?"

"South America isn't Mexico," Santana said.

"Right. Silly me," my mom said, letting Santana go. She gave her a pat on the arm. "Well, you girls have fun. Brittany, keep an eye on Brosnan, okay? I'll be back the same time as usual."

I gave a quick nod as she came over and kissed my forehead. "Dad?" I whispered, looking up into her huge blue eyes.

Her warm breath hit my ear. "He's all right today," she said softly. "He can make you guys dinner if you want."

I glanced at Santana as she stood in place, rubbing her scratched knuckles with steady fingers.

"That's okay, Mom. But can he watch Brosnan? I mean...mostly?"

Her eyes fell. "Mostly. But don't put too much on him." She kissed me again, giving Santana's arm another pat and a tender squeeze. "Take care. It was nice meeting you. Brittany hasn't had any friends over here in a long time."

"That's not true," I said.

Except that it was.

"Thanks," Santana answered, looking up at my mother with eyes that seemed heavier than ever before, full of darkness and wet around their edges.

After my mom left, Santana gazed over at me. "She's so supernice," she said quietly. "She's like the perfect mom."

I took a seat on the sofa, my hands in my lap, itching to grab the remote. The cushion beside me sank down, Santana's caramel face and dark brown eyes in my field of vision. She pulled her backpack up next to her and wiped at the dirt on its bottom.

"My mom is kind of a strange person," I said, glancing quickly at her.

"Really?" Santana said, laughing. "Is that why she thinks South America is in Mexico?"

"No. She just gets confused about things a lot. Like me."

Santana turned her head to smile at me.

"My sister's name is Brosnan," I said. "It's weird, right? My mom thinks Pierce Brosnan was the best Bond, forever and always. Even more than Sean Connery. She wanted my sister's name to be cool, but Brosnan gets made fun of at school."

Santana gave me a quiet nod. "Yeah, I bet. You too?"

I shrugged. "Sometimes."

"That's why you've gotta kick those assholes in the balls," she said, her eyes suddenly flaming. "Fuck them if they say shit to you."

I looked down, pulling a cushion into my lap and hugging it. "No, I can't do that. My parents don't support violence."

Santana cleared her throat, her voice dropping. "My dad was a wrestler in high school. He put a kid in the hospital for calling him 'Spic.'" She giggled nervously. "It's kind of ironic, about the hospital situation, I mean. Since my dad is a doctor now."

I shifted my weight on the couch away from her, holding the cushion against my chest like a little turquoise cloud. "My dad's disabled. He hurt his back a bunch of times in truck accidents. Now he can't work or anything and he's usually in too much pain to take care of Brosnan. So, when my mom's at work, I have to do it. But I guess he's okay to watch her tonight. We can go out if you want, or just stay in my room. Whatever you wanna do."

I could feel Santana next to me, the heat of her body, the leather jacket like a fake skin. Her hair was glowing. Her eyes were quiet pools of umber. I could smell her smell, watermelon and Gucci Envy Me.

"Sorry," she said, turning to face me. She placed one hand on my leg. "I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to say to that."

"That's okay." I looked down at her fingers still on me. "I never know what to say either, when I say it," I told her. "Maybe your dad can fix my dad."

Santana's face softened, her hand rubbing circles out of my thigh. I felt a bunch of fists inside of my throat, punching me.

_No, not now. Not now._

At my cheek there was a rustling, Santana sliding my hair out of the way, pushing it behind my ear so she could look me straight in the eyes. "Hey," she whispered. "You're crying." She gave me a sad smile as I bent into my little turquoise cloud and sobbed.

I was suffocating. Blue-green cotton water. I couldn't breathe down here, hiding down here all alone. I peered up at Santana, tears blurring everything in front of me. She looked like a painting, a Miro, a mess of shapes and color.

And then her thumbs came up beneath my lashes, wiping all of the abstract away. "It's okay to cry sometimes," she said quietly. "You know, when life sucks." Her fingers fell on my hair at my forehead, smoothing out the long blonde lines.

"You hate to cry," I said, sniffing. "You said it's lame and loserish."

"Well, that's only when I do it."

"Really?"

She smiled, poking me in the nose with her index finger. "Let's go to the park. Nature and stuff. It makes people feel better. That's why those antidepressant commercials always show women frolicking in parks with dogs. And squirrels."

I gave her a nod, grabbing her hand in my fist. My tears on her fingers bled back into me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks again for all of the reviews :)**

**Chapter 14**

Santana laughed, swinging from the Monkey Bars towards me, her black boots kicking the air. "I'm gonna knock your ass off this thing!" she shouted.

Her right hand hit mine, our bodies aligned. One girl. Two girls. One line of color and one line of black, hanging from the metal like streamers.

"Please don't!" I begged. "I had a bad experience on this when I was a kid."

"What happened?" she asked, her breath coming out in jagged gasps before my cheeks. A set of fingers let loose, striking my shoulder. She hung there by one arm, grinning at me. It was an evil little smile.

"Please don't knock me off," I whispered. "I can dance, but my arms don't work so well. I can never hold on."

She let go and fell to the concrete, her shoes pounding. The weight of her splashed down and then up again. "C'mere," she said, one hand outstretched.

I collapsed to the ground in a puddle of fabric. My tight striped leotard under a loose T-shirt, parachute pants billowing out, white sneakers with pebbles lodged in their tracks, my turtle necklace twisted at my ears. I winced, rubbing my grazed arms.

"Fucking hell, Brittany," Santana said. "You weren't kidding. You suck at this." She bent down to lift me to my feet.

"Yeah, I suck," I breathed, coming together again in her hands. "When I was in elementary school, everyone thought it'd be funny to gang up on me on the Monkey Bars. I really tried to hold on, but they knew I couldn't. So they grabbed me and they pushed me off. I don't like these things. I think they look like cages that someone forgot to finish."

"Too bad I wasn't around back then," Santana said, wiping the dirt from my hair. Her fingers moved so slowly and gently over my head, as if they weren't even connected to the rest of her body. "I would've kicked their nuts up into their throats."

I gave her a shy smile. "No, they were girls. Girls don't have nuts."

"Some do," Santana replied, laughing.

I pulled away and walked towards the sliding boards. "I'm stupid and weird though. I deserve it. I don't fit in. They still do it now."

"Do what?" she asked, running up behind me. Her waist collided with mine, her legs along my own and her shoulders melting into the tops of my arms. She looked up at me, her brown eyes sparkling. "Push you off Monkey Bars?"

I shook my head. "No, there's no Monkey Bars in high school."

"It was a joke," Santana whispered, punching me lightly in the shoulder. "I don't think you're stupid. Or weird. You shouldn't say that about yourself. Besides sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will send you to the psych ward." She bent her head, scratching at a loop of black hair. "Yeah, I got nothing."

I gave her half of a smile.

"Hey!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Let's sit on the slides and write a song! You ever written anything?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head.

"I bet those losers in your Glee Club write originals though. Rachel Berry totally has. It's painted all over her Israeli face. Lemme guess," she said, rubbing her chin with two fingers. "I love you Finn, you end where I begin, if you stop talking to me I'll go all Fatal Attraction on your ass, if you wanna marry me do it fast...at the Synagogue."

I giggled. "No, she likes to write songs about her accessories. She loves her headband! Oh, and she wrote a song about her gay dads too, but there were no accessories in that one."

"Rachel has two gay dads?" Santana asked. "Well, that's fucking interesting."

I watched her leg in its dark jeans knock into mine, the top of her boot rubbing my calf.

"What kinds of songs do you write?" I asked quickly.

She bent down to pick her backpack up off the ground, then ran away from me. "Sad ones," she replied, jumping onto the sliding board in front of her. She crawled up it from the bottom and stood there at its top, one arm raised towards the setting sun. "Guess who this is, Brittany. I'm the king of the world!" she yelled. "What a lame movie. I saw it ten times. Don't tell anybody." She laughed, staring straight at me.

I didn't laugh in return. Her feet looked so shaky. She was making me dizzy.

"You know what?" Santana asked.

"What?" I asked, making a circle around the sliding board. I came up the ladder and sat down behind her.

Santana turned to face me, slamming both of her palms down upon my waiting legs. "I wanna drink. I think we should drink while we write. All the best musicians were one of three things: alcoholics and/or druggies, gay or crazy. Bonus points if you have two out of three. If you're all _three _you should just kill yourself. Then you become an automatic genius. You know, like Kurt Cobain."

"I don't think Kurt Cobain was gay," I spoke softly.

"What, are you kidding?" Santana interjected. "What straight man would sleep with Courtney Love?"

She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a glass bottle. It was Bacardi, the label half-peeled off and the seal already broken. It was mixed with something that had turned it a weird pink color. All I could think of was this one hot-pink dress that Brosnan's Barbie had. I wished I could secretly wear it, if I could shrink myself like they did in that old movie where the kids flew around on insects.

"Drink with me," Santana demanded.

"I don't drink," I said as she twisted off the cap. "It makes my insides itch."

"I'll scratch them for you then." The bottle cocked back, she held its neck in her fist and sucked down a stream of pale cherry liquid.

"What is that?" I asked.

She swallowed, hugging the glass bottle in her lap like a baby's bottle. "Rum and Gatorade. Fruit punch Gatorade. I went all Lima Heights on this shit. Ghetto alcohol at its finest." She gave me a funny smile, pressing the Bacardi in my direction. "You sure you don't want any?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Santana...the cops. You can't drink in public." I scanned the grounds of the park. "We could get caught."

"Oh please, I never get caught! Besides, there are worse things than being thrown into juvie." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Unless we're talking about that detention center on I-75 where my cousin got sent last year. She said she was forced to eat mashed potatoes without gravy and listen to Christian rock music during break time..."

Santana leaned into the wooden supports on her side of the slide. I leaned into my own, staring at her as her fingers rubbed the glass between her legs.

"Okay, check this out," she said. "I wrote it last night." She threw one hand up beside her cheek and sang.

_"Well, I've never known such blue_

_as when I knew I had to keep knowing you._

_And the purple bruises mend_

_but I can't make you stop_

_and I can't make you bend._

_But I can't help but bend_

_every time your smile_

_carves these scars out_

_and keeps us friends..."_

My eyes sunk down to her waist, her black leather jacket covering that mark on her side. I wondered if it still hurt. I wondered if she looked at it and wanted to cry or wanted to hit someone back.

"That's all I have so far." Santana smiled at me and took another drink.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The sun had fallen behind the buildings downtown. I walked with Santana under one arm, holding her up as her bag swung into my back. Her footsteps were jagged and slow. Her tangled hair scratched my side.

"Did you like my song?" she asked, smiling up at me, her dark eyes watery and rimmed red. "I wanted to write something beautiful, as beautiful as that Civil Wars song I played for you the other day. But it didn't come out right. It sucked. It just sucked."

"No, it was good," I breathed. "I liked it."

Santana started sobbing hysterically, clutching me as I clutched her back. "Those lyrics aren't about a friend, you know. And neither are 'Poison and Wine''s. Not the way I think about them."

I glanced at her as she kept crying. She looked like a typhoon ready to drown me.

"Who are they about?" I asked quietly.

She didn't answer. She only bit her shaking lip and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

"Santana?"

"What?"

"I've gotta call my dad," I told her. "Can I borrow your phone?"

She yanked herself away from me, stumbling into one of the benches in front of the art store. "Oh, shit!" she cried out, laughing now instead of crying.

"Don't do that," I warned.

I ran towards her, grabbing her hand before her head smashed into the sidewalk. She turned to grin at me. There were dried tears all over her face.

"Your parents are probably shitting out perfect, little bricks right now, huh? Your mom is so supernice," she said in a breathy voice, looking up at me with a dreamy expression in her eyes. "If she comes home from work and you're not there, she'll totally call the cops. She will, won't she? Even though it's only like nine o'clock. Prime time for the rapists to start jumping out of the woods though. They keep razors in their hair. Did you know that? But don't worry, Brittany," she said, smacking me in the chest with her scratched-up knuckles. "I'll protect you."

"It's 10:16," I said, peering down at my purple G-Shock.

"Fuck, it's late!" Santana cried out.

Her thigh rocked into mine as she collapsed along the bench. I took her hand, sliding in beside her warm body, the ass I'd been staring at just the other day. Her backpack came around to knock me in the chest.

"Sorry," Santana apologized, pulling it back into her own space. She unzipped the front compartment and rammed her cell phone into my palm.

"I can't," I said, giving her an embarrassed look. "iPhones confuse me. They don't have any buttons so my fingers don't know where to go."

Santana laughed. "Look, Brittany, your naivete is charming and all, but this is really not turning me on right now." Her foot came out, the toe of her boot digging itself into my sneaker.

I felt my insides go all fuzzy and electric, like when your friends slide across the carpet in socks and then touch your skin.

Santana grabbed her iPhone out of my sweaty hand. "What's your number?"

I told her and she made a bunch of them show up on the screen. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. She pressed a little picture of a green phone and shoved her iPhone back into my face. I hurriedly put it to my ear. There was a click as my father's voice came up on the other end.

"Dad?"

What could I tell him? She was sick. Throwing up. Bad pizza. We went to the mall and ate Mamma Illardo's that had been sitting out all afternoon.

"Brittany, where are you?" he asked.

I could hear the worry in his voice. I could hear him missing me.

"I have to take her home," I told him.

I'd be late, really late. But I was okay. And she was okay too.

I closed my eyes and saw his pained back turned to me, the pad of his bare feet upstairs, too tired to do anything more than collapse in bed. Goodnight.

"I don't know when I'll be home, Dad, but I have my key. Yeah, that one, the one you painted my name on. Yeah. Yeah. Everything's fine. Don't worry."

As soon as the lie left my lips I wished I could swallow it down. It burned, my whole mouth parched and on fire. I didn't lie. I never lied.

"Here," I told Santana, handing her phone back to her. "Thanks."

She turned it off and slid it into her backpack, staring into my eyes as she rubbed at her own. "You're gonna take me home?" Her eyes blinked so slowly. "To my house? Now?"

"Yeah," I said, raising my arm for her to slide under. "Come on."

Her boots shifted across the ground, scratching black lines along the concrete. She fell into me with a heavy thump. I winced.

"I'm fucking drunk," she whispered, her warm rum-scented breath clouding at my ear.

"I know." I reached for her hand as her fingers swam into mine. "Don't fall though. I won't be able to pick you back up."

She gave me a goofy smile. "'Cuz your arms suck."

"Yeah," I said, grabbing onto her side and walking the two of us away.

"But you carried me _here_," Santana argued.

"Yeah," I repeated. "I did."

She had no idea how much my arms hurt though, how much I thought they'd just come off at any moment and land on the street. If that happened, I wondered, would they wave us both goodbye?


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Hey," she said, looking up at me. She was sitting on her bed, kicking the edge of it and rubbing at her hair. "You're really beautiful, Brittany. You look like a blonde cat. I hate cats, but I like you." Santana yawned into the compliment.

"Lay down and stop kicking," I said. "I've gotta take your shoes off." I pushed at her knees gently, the black sheets and black blankets ruffling around her.

"Brittany?" she asked.

"What?" I bent down on the floor beneath her, my fingers fumbling to undo the laces of her 8-hole Docs. They were wet and sticky and smeared with dirt. They smelled like liquor.

"I can sing," she said.

"I know. I heard you singing that Stevie Nicks' song before."

"My voice is superhot."

"Yeah, it's hot," I agreed. I clumsily peeled off her left boot and let it drop under the bed.

"I can sing, but I'm not a loser!" Santana said loudly. "I'm cool! Therefore I am never joining your Glee Club, Brittany, even though I'm sure they could use my amazingly sexy voice and undeniable charisma!" she shouted, sitting up halfway and nearly kicking me in the face.

"Shhh," I hissed, grabbing her calf with one firm hand.

"Why did I print out those flyers?" A whisper this time, staring straight at me as I managed to remove her other boot. "I had no intention of making a rock band. I hate everybody."

I sighed, massaging her socks with my hands then slipping them off. Her toenails had been painted black to match her nails.

"But I don't hate _you_," Santana said.

I stood up and looked into her red eyes. "You should be quiet. Your neighbors might be sleeping."

"Fuck quiet, Brittany!" Santana yelled. "My neighbors don't care! You've seen this neighborhood, right? They have ten-foot steel fences so they can watch 'The Millionaire Matchmaker' with the volume all the way up, getting ideas for their next dates."

"My cat loves 'The Millionaire Matchmaker!'"

Santana made a face at me. "That's great," she muttered, collapsing back along her black pillows.

"Where are your parents?" I asked softly, standing at the foot of Santana's bed as she shut her eyes.

"My dad's at a conference in Miami. He's always at conferences. And no one else is ever here," she said, pausing for a moment. "Never ever," she added.

I bit my index finger, staring at her as she curled herself into the fetal position. And then there she was, so little again, a skinny shadow. I held my breath and hoped she wouldn't open her eyes. I just wanted to keep looking at her.

"Where's your mom?" I asked.

My watch glowed in the dim light of her bedroom. 10:48.

Santana squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, laughing. She opened her mouth and sang:

_"Since I've been loving you, things have changed,_

_where I've become older_

_and you've become strange._

_Alcohol buries you,_

_a death to your brain,_

_say mother come back to me,_

_remember your name..."_

The rasp in her voice was stronger than before, mixed with her Bacardi and Gatorade and all of those tears. Santana put a hand to her forehead and moaned. "Jesus, Brittany, my head hurts! For real it's like an elephant is sitting on me."

"I've never had an elephant sit on me," I said quietly.

"Yeah, 'cuz you're a good girl," she said. "You're a good daughter." Her lashes fluttered, her eyes opening and fixing themselves directly on me.

10:51.

"Do you wanna put some pajamas on, Santana? I'll turn around. I don't like to get dressed in front of people 'cuz it feels like I'm naked and they can see right through me. Maybe you're the same way. I can get them for you and then turn around. Just tell me where they are."

"You know, I think you're the most interesting person I know," Santana said, smiling.

I blushed, hanging my head into my hair. How long could I stand here like this? What was I supposed to do? Dance? Climb into bed with her and rub her head until it stopped hurting?

10:54.

"C'mere, Brittany, c'mere," she said, gesturing for me. She slid backwards, all of the covers wadded beneath her, her neck slamming into the headboard. "Fucking hell!" she cried, wincing. "Please c'mere." One hand patted the wrinkled fabric next to her.

I shifted on the heels of my socks. There was a tiny hole in the toe. The gnomes in the basement had gotten to this pair too! My sneakers stared back at me from their place in the corner of Santana's room.

"I've gotta go home soon," I said.

"I know, I know. But you can stay here a _little_ longer, can't you? Please?"

She looked at me with the soft face of a kid, but in her eyes there was nothing. No light. No glitter. Just red lines and darkness.

"Okay," I conceded, stepping across the carpet to reach her side.

For a moment I froze, as if I'd suddenly forgotten how to climb into a bed. Santana grabbed my hand and yanked me up, pulling me in and under the covers. I rolled into her side as she giggled.

"I wanna talk to you," she said.

"About what?"

She raised a hand to touch my face, her damp fingers tracing a line down my cheek. "You're so awesome and so pretty. I wish I looked like you," she breathed.

I looked down. "I'm not pretty."

"Yeah, you are. Seriously, when you smile it makes me feel happy inside and I never feel happy. So you should smile all the time."

I did then, into my shirt, and my heart slid into my ribcage.

"I'm not that drunk anymore," she explained.

"Okay..."

She nodded slowly then pulled away, twisting her body around to shove her back into my face. "Look," she spoke, tugging the bottom of her shirt up to her armpit.

That mark. That dim purple-brown-yellow thud.

I hid my eyes in her sheets.

"My mom did it," she whispered. "It's nothing new. I had more, but they faded." Her shirt fell to cover her bruise. She whirled back around to face me. "Does it freak you out?"

I couldn't look. I couldn't look back up.

Santana took my chin in her hand and lifted it towards hers. "Please talk to me, Brittany. Please."

"I don't know what to say."

"I don't care. Just say something. Anything."

"Does your dad know?" I asked.

Santana laughed. "Yeah, right. Like he even cares. He's too busy fucking like half of his clients." She ran one finger down the edge of her pillow. "Plastic surgeon. Everyone's hot."

"You should tell someone," I suggested. "Like an adult."

"My cousin knows. She's out of the detention center now. She says I can go live with her whenever, but I just keep wondering what the fuck I did to make my mom hate me so much. I don't wanna run away. Like I just want her to _like_ me. Maybe if I stay here I'll grow on her. How messed-up is that? I mean, that's a ridiculous way of thinking."

I caught her eyes in mine. "No, it's not." My hand hovered beside her on the bed, clutching at the dark dark fabric. "She's your mom."

"Yeah, but shouldn't a mom love you all the time? Like unconditionally? I love _her_. That's pretty stupid though." She laughed. "I'm so fucking stupid," she said, her voice falling. She shook her head. "_Your_ mom's awesome. Why can't I have a mom like that?"

Her eyes begged, as if I could give her what she wanted. She was doing the locker look again, like that first time in English class and then with Quinn in the cafeteria. She shifted closer, her feet tapping my calves beneath the covers.

"Whatever." Santana choked out a nervous laugh. "When I grow up I'll be just like her. It's fate. She's a drunk asshole. I'm a drunk asshole. Whatever."

"You won't be like her, "I whispered. "And you're not an asshole." My fingers crawled across the sheets to rest on hers.

"No?" Her mouth formed a broken smile.

I stared at her as she stared back. Her tiny cold toes stuck to me. Her side lodged against mine, the breath in her chest moving it up and down. It fell close to my ear, those hot shards of rum and the heady scent of fake fruit. She pressed a hand to my collarbone.

"What?" I asked, my whole body pounding with heartbeats.

"You don't think I'm like her," she said, her voice cracking. "But I can't stop, Brittany. I can't stop."

Her eyes were so sad. They looked like Lord Tubbington's when I forgot to Tivo his favorite shows.

Santana curved her palm up the length of my throat, one arm pressing itself against my breasts. I took a breath as her arm raised. Her light brown skin brushed my nipples. A bolt of electricity struck my chest. She took my face in both hands.

Her eyes were so sad.

She pulled me into her. Her warm mouth melted over mine, my lower lip sucked into the taste of her spit. Her kiss was hot and sweet and soft and forceful. We fell against her headboard, her breasts mashed into mine as she let out a moan.

She pushed harder, her hair at my cheeks, her fists on my collar, yanking. My brain was aching now, as if Santana's elephant had jumped off of her and onto me. She parted my lips with her tongue and slid it along my teeth. I pressed my tongue against hers, spinning. Her fingers raked themselves through my hair. I could feel her short nails scratching my scalp. Her tiny scratches went all the way down my spine.

It felt like all of her, all of her inside of me. It felt like drowning. I couldn't breathe. All I could smell was her body, her perfume, and her. Just her underneath.

And then, just like that, it was over.

She looked at me, those sad eyes falling. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Brittany. Sorry."

I managed to choke out two words. "I'm not."

But she chose to ignore me, stumbling out of bed. Her legs crinkled beneath her like a Slinky. She fell into the wall with a moan. "You can go home now." Her voice came out muffled, from the corner, one palm pressed to her black wall.

My feet padded over to her. Everything was so quiet, like we were on the moon and there were no other humans for miles and miles. I stood there in front of her, my feet unmoving, cold air blowing through the hole at my toe.

"Yeah, it's late," I found myself saying. "My dad's waiting for me."

"Yeah, go home, go home. It's cool."

She fell into her Che Guevera poster, her black hair shrouding her eyes. I walked into her side and smoothed it away. My hand came up and landed on her forehead. It was hot and there were little beads of sweat laced across her brows. I brushed her bangs back with shaky fingers and watched as her eyes fell closed in silence.

"See you," I said quietly.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

She hadn't come to school today. 'Cuz of her mom? 'Cuz of me? That bruise on her back was a black smudge in my mind. I couldn't scrub it clean. I just kept seeing it. And then all of that black morphed into her hair, her face, her nails clutching my jaw as she leaned in to kiss me.

It was just a stupid kiss. She was drunk. She was sad 'cuz of her mom. How could a mother do that?

"Brittany, are you all right?" Mr. Schue asked, staring straight across the choir room at me. "You seem a little lost in your thoughts today."

Quinn was at my side, her shoulder pressed into mine. She turned to eye me up and down.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I told the both of them. I dragged my hands into my lap and clasped my left wrist with my right palm.

Mr. Schue gave me a tight-lipped smile, his chest pressing against his gray vest. He had a vest addiction. He wore them the same way I wore my loose dance clothes, to say something he couldn't say out loud.

"Rachel, are you ready? From the top," Mr. Schue said.

Rachel leaped out of her seat and rushed to the front of the classroom. "Today I'll be singing a song from the seminal seventies and eighties metal band, Blue Oyster Cult. This song is traditionally done by a man, but I'm going to attempt to place a feminist twist on it. Enjoy!"

Quinn placed a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh. She jammed the other into my shoulder. "This should be good," she whispered.

I stared at Quinn, her huge hazel eyes and the hint of her bow-shaped lips, her tiny squarish nose and her shiny blonde hair. She was the total opposite of Santana. She was like something so bright and colorful that it made my head feel too full.

I planted my eyes on the floor as Rachel's voice boomed out. The fluorescent lights above me shot flakes of dust all over the Glee Club.

Streetlights. I was walking alone, back to my house from hers. It was midnight. The feel of her lips was still on mine, the heat of her and that sadness in her eyes. I carried my lies around on my back with my book bag. All of it weighed me down.

My mom had left the porch light on. She met me at the door before I could poke my BRITTANY key through the hole. "Brit! How is your friend? Is she okay?" Her warm smile was too sharp, stabbing me like a knife.

"Yeah, she's fine now," I answered. I slipped past her, wanting to run up the stairs to my bedroom and lock the door behind me.

Did I smell? Could she smell it on me? Santana's rum? Santana's kiss?

She hugged me. I could only stand there in her arms like my old Bubbles Powerpuff doll, limp, as she rubbed my hair. She must have been able to smell it. I must have smelled just like her.

"It was sweet of you to take care of your friend like that. It's very late though now. The cow's jumped over the moon." She wiped at my forehead. "You should get to bed."

"Yeah. Goodnight, Mom," I said, rushing away.

I saw her smile back at me, that same worried smile I wore, sewed across my skin so sloppily.

Quinn pulled her hands away from her mouth to clap for Rachel. She hissed at me, "Wow, I _fear_ the Reaper now."

As Rachel walked back to her seat beside Finn, Quinn shot her the evil eye. Rachel shot one back, clutching onto Finn's bicep as her side fell in beside his.

"Tonight," Quinn whispered. "Man hands is going down." She turned to catch my gaze. "I'll pick you up at seven."


	18. Chapter 18

**A couple of short Quinn-related chapters now. Sorry!**

**Chapter 18**

Quinn held my hand walking into Breadstix, her shoulder brushing mine and her flowery perfume rushing out to cloud all over me.

"This is gonna be so easy," she said. As we hit the front door she dropped my hand to smooth the front of her sweater. She turned to me and gave me a nervous smile. "You look really nice, Brittany. I'm glad you decided to take my advice and ditch the granny clothes. My dress looks great on you. Good thing it's warm tonight."

"It's so short," I commented, tugging at its hem. It stopped only four inches from where my underwear did.

"No, it looks good. You look good." She bit her lip and chewed at the pink gloss coating it. "How about me?"

I nodded. "You look fine."

"Just fine?" Her eyes fell.

"No, beautiful," I quickly corrected myself. "You're beautiful."

Quinn smiled, thrusting the door open. I followed the swing of her skirt the same way I used to follow her Cheerios uniform into the locker room. Finn was already there, waiting for us with that usual gassy-infant look on his face. He slid out of the booth and stood up as we reached his feet.

"Hi, guys," he said.

"Hi," I answered.

Quinn was less subtle. She took his waist and leaned in to hug him, a kiss on the cheek. "Hello. You smell great," she breathed.

Finn looked towards me and chuckled. "Well, ladies." He turned up the palm of his hand in an offer to sit down.

Quinn went first, then me next to her, Finn across from us.

I felt Quinn's palm slip over my bare leg. She pressed her mouth to my ear and whispered. "Just follow my lead. Like in Glee Club, okay?" Her hand on my knee squeezed so hard that it felt like she was squeezing me in half.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

She told me to order pasta, so I did. She told me to eat only half of it, allowing the rest to go cold, making us look like we could control everything.

"I still don't get it," Finn started. "Why'd you guys quit Cheerios? You were awesome!" he said directly to Quinn, shoving a meatball into his mouth.

A drop of tomato sauce landed on his chin. Quinn smiled, picking up her perfectly-folded napkin and leaning across the table to dab it off for him.

"You're messy," she told him.

He blushed and I turned my head towards the door. I wondered if Santana ever came here. I wondered if she loved the dry, skinny breadsticks as much as Quinn did.

I felt her fingers in my hair then, her nails that were longer than Santana's, her scratches that only left me with a strange nauseous feeling inside.

"We wanted to join you," Quinn said. "In Glee. So we all could be together."

Finn was watching us, Quinn's hand running its way down the back of my neck and over my arm. He coughed, choking on his meatball. He grabbed for his glass of Coke and gulped it.

"Wow, thanks," he spoke finally. "But I mean, I still play football. You could have done both."

"No, that's silly," Quinn said. "How could we concentrate on two things at once and be awesome at both of them? We're much better at focusing completely on just one." She smiled sweetly.

I looked down at my half-eaten plate of pasta. I picked up one of the breadsticks and stabbed it into my ziti. Whenever it came away it got redder and redder. It looked like the tip of my Hello Kitty! pen.

"Brittany, what are you doing? Brittany?" Quinn asked. Her voice sounded annoyed.

"Huh?" I asked.

Finn gave me half of a grin, as if to silently tell me I was weird. He was one of THEM, just like everybody else.

"So Finn," Quinn said, "we were just wondering...Rachel Berry...I hear she's a huge bitch. There's all kinds of stuff written about her in the first floor girls' bathroom."

Finn's eyes narrowed. "What stuff? Rachel's cool."

Quinn snorted, taking a sip of her 7-Up through its straw. She licked her lips. "Oh, apparently she keyed a guy's car just for looking at another girl. And she called Animal Control on another one's dog. The poor thing was old and had a bit of mange, so they euthanized him. That guy simply forgot to call her one weekend."

"What?" Finn laughed. "I never heard about any of that."

"Of course you didn't," Quinn continued. "'Cuz Rachel has connections in the theatre community. Some of those people are on public access TV! She can pay them to keep things quiet."

"That's ridiculous."

Quinn shrugged. "Well, all I know is she told me yesterday that she cried for seven hours straight the other night 'cuz you didn't hit that high C during your duet on Wednesday. You _really _disappointed her. Really."

Finn scratched at one of his eyebrows. He took another swallow of Coke. "Well, I like Rachel. I mean, I don't have any reason to break up with her."

I glanced at Quinn as her eyes grew worried. I knew that look. She used to give it to me after Cheerios practice, after kissing, when she was afraid that someone might catch us. Her bottom lip shook a little. I grazed her leg under the table with the tips of my fingers.

"If you go out with Quinn, we'll make out in front of you," I told Finn.

Quinn's head darted in my direction. She sniffed, pausing for a moment as our eyes collided with one another. I gave her the sweetest smile I could manage.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

We sat in Quinn's car afterwards as she sobbed into her open palms.

"It didn't work," she said. "It didn't work. Why doesn't he like me? Why aren't I pretty enough?" She looked up, her mascara smeared beneath her lashes and her blond hair hanging in droopy lines at her cheeks. "I really wanted him to love me, Brittany."

I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't just sit there and watch her cry. She wasn't like Santana. She could break and we had touched so many times before. I pulled her into my chest and let her tears soak the dress she'd lent me.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispered into my bare arm. "I'm not a good person. I used you."

"Yeah..." I breathed.

She pulled away, clicking open her glove compartment and pulling out a squashed box of Kleenex. In the rearview mirror she dabbed at her makeup, wiping away twin black smudges and crumpling the tissue into a ball. She slipped it into the crack between our seats.

"We're still friends, right, Brittany?" she asked.

I stuck my finger in my mouth and chewed at the nail. It tasted like pasta and meat sauce.

"Brittany?" Quinn repeated.

"Sure," I answered.

She gave me a sad smile and, just for a second in the darkness of the parking lot, it looked exactly like Santana's. Quinn leaned over the middle seat and kissed me fiercely on the lips.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

On Sunday afternoon I sat in my bedroom, staring out through the closed window. The trees looked like broccoli that had gone bad and dropped all of their broccoli parts.

There was an "Animal Hoarders" marathon on Animal Planet. It was my favorite show 'cuz it always made me cry. I didn't always feel things the way they were supposed to be felt, so sometimes I had to use things outside of my own body.

But I didn't wanna cry right now. I didn't wanna think about all of those poor little kitties or the sting of Quinn's kiss or the heat of Santana's or where the hell she even was right now. Was she okay?

I clicked the TV off and planted my face in my palms. I breathed in the moist condensation of my breath. I breathed in strands of my hair.

"Brit-Brit!" Brosnan struck me on the shoulder with one of her notebooks.

"What?" I shouted, looking up. "Stop the violence!" I grabbed the book from her hand and slapped it down on my lap. It was open to a block of sentences.

"Can you read it?" my sister asked softly, her face falling into pink shame.

I sighed, rubbing my cheeks with both hands.

"It's a letter for school." Another quiet line. "I just wanna make sure all the words are right. We're getting pen pals from Germany."

I looked up into her wide eyes. She hadn't combed her hair today. Her clothes were wrinkled and there was a blotch on her chest. Dried purple grape juice.

"Yeah, sure," I answered, giving her a smile. I dropped her notebook on my desk, stood up from its chair and ran a hand through her dirty-brown waves. "This looks terrible, Bros. Just like snake hair. I know Mommy told you to brush it this morning."

"Yeah, I know," she said, hanging her head.

I was staring at my sister when she called, my cat-head phone ringing across the desk like a siren, his crazy black eyes lit up and dancing.

"Hey," Santana said.

She sounded so close, like if I breathed too hard I might be able to feel her skin there next to mine.

"Hey," I said back.

"Brit!" Brosnan interrupted, banging my side with her fist.

I shooed her away. Her bare feet shuffled out of my bedroom and down the corridor. I closed the door.

"How'd you get my number?" I asked.

"We called it. Thursday night, remember?" Santana's laugh on the other end of the line vibrated. "You're in my phone now."

"Oh..." I answered.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Really? I thought for sure you'd be practicing some sweetass dance moves for a Rachel-Finn duet."

"No," I said sharply. "Why are you always talking about Glee Club? I do other things too."

I heard her suck her breath back into her throat. "I know," she muttered.

"Sorry," I apologized. I curled my finger inside the twisty cord of my cat phone, wrapping it around my skin until a red line appeared. "Are you okay?" I asked. "You didn't come to school again."

"Yeah, I had like a million better things to do."

"Oh..."

_Better things to do. Like cry yourself to sleep. Like tell someone about your mom._

"Do you wanna hang out?" Santana asked. "Let's go somewhere. I don't wanna be here at my house."

"What, right now?" I ran a hand over my sister's notebook. Her handwriting was so broken and dark and all over the place. It was a total mess.

"Yeah, now! I have a surprise for you and, no it doesn't involve any form of alcohol or me forcing you to do body shots off of my hot stomach. Although, now that you mention it..."

"That's not funny," I interrupted her.

She sighed. "Look, Brittany, I know this is totally lame of me to admit- and I'll go all Jackie Chan on your ass if you tell anyone- but I don't have any other friends. Just you." Her voice dropped away into a low rasp. "So please come with me."

I paused, staring at the room around me:

Brosnan's notebook. The first paragraph read: _"Hi! My name is Brosnan Pierce and I'm 8 years old. I live with my mom and dad and awesome big sister in Lyma, Ohio. We have two cats named Charity and Lord Tubbington. Charity is normul size but Lord Tubbington is very very fat becuz he loves cheese."_

The patchwork quilt my aunt had made. My stuffed cat named Mucho Bucho. My white sneakers set perfectly in front of my closet. My old Cheerios outfit still hanging from the closet door, the too-tight top and the little red skirt that Quinn used to slip her fingers under as I moaned into her neck.

"Okay," I said to Santana. "I'll tell my mom."

"She's not working tonight?

"No, she's off."

"Cool," she replied. "Meet me at the park in like an hour. At our slide."

_Our slide._

"Yeah, okay."

"See ya, Brittany. And thanks," she added.

She hung up before I had a chance to reply. The cat's eyes went dead.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

She was waiting for me on the sliding board, sitting like a boy with her legs wide open, her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward. Her book bag was pinned to her back and jutting up to graze the sky. I walked towards her and squinted at the evening sun. It left a pink-orange kiss on her scalp.

Santana's face bloomed into a smile. She jumped up, her body colliding with mine, her dark eyes swallowing me whole. Her soft, wavy hair blew into my cheeks. She looked like the Santana I'd first met, crazy and confident and hot, bubbling over like the weird geyser my parents had driven me to see out west when I was a kid.

Did the other night even happen?

Her gaze was so clear, gray shadow etched around her lashes. There was mauve-colored lipstick on her lips. She wore a low-cut red blouse beneath her leather jacket that had only word printed on it- BOY-TOY. Everything was so bright. Too bright.

"Hey," I said softly as she held me. Her chest squashed against mine, her thighs pressing into my knees. "How are you?"

"Great!" she exclaimed. "Why?"

She didn't smell like the other night. She didn't smell like that rum.

"I was worried," I whispered.

Her eyes narrowed, her fake lashes skimming her skin. She looked like a little blinking doll. Her chest rose and fell. I tried not to stare at the slim shadow between her breasts. I tried not to think about what she looked like naked, how brown her skin was next to mine.

"Why the hell were you worried?" she asked. She stared straight at me, her index finger drawn out of her left hand to brush my cheek. "Were you eating Cheetos or something?"

"Huh?"

"You've got orange shit on your face."

Her fingers felt so soft, so warm and gentle. I had to turn away.

"I was feeding my cat before I left to meet you," I told her.

"Your cat eats Cheetos?" I heard her voice beside my head. Her hand fell on the back of my hand, smoothing my hair. "Damn, Brittany, you got it everywhere."

I sniffed, reaching up and backwards to knock her hand away. When I turned around to face her, she was frowning. She folded her arms across her chest and shrugged.

"Well, whatever. How late can you stay out?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe ten?"

"Shit," Santana said, scratching her nose. "Yeah, that doesn't give us much time. What's it now? Six or something?"

"Time for what?"

She slid into me again, grabbing my hand in her own. "You'll see." That familiar black glitter in her eyes sprinkled itself all over me.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"I just wanted to thank you," Santana said, stretching one arm across the table to touch my fingers. "For helping me the other night."

"By taking me to a coffeehouse?"

"What? The coffee here is fucking awesome. And so are these..." She picked up one of the cinnamon twist cookies resting on my plate, "...whatever these things are. No, sorry, not these. Seriously, they look like churros that got stuck up a dog's ass then crapped out ten years later."

I made a face. "Well, I don't wanna eat them now."

She shrugged. "Okay. Can I have them?" She held my cookie up to her mouth, waving it like a little flag.

"No, I want it," I said, grabbing it out of her hand. "I'm hungry. Lord Tubbington wouldn't let me have any Cheetos."

She laughed, her dark brown eyes grinning at me as she took a sip of white chocolate mocha coffee. I didn't like coffee. It made my heartbeat funny, like a little Peter Rabbit was jumping up and down inside of my chest. I bit into the too-hard cinnamon twist cookie and chewed.

"Brittany," Santana said. "You've got..."

"What?" I asked, swallowing the chunk of cookie.

"On your lip."

"What?"

Her fingers danced along the tabletop. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. I counted the seconds. She leaned forward and brushed my mouth with her thumb, wiping free an errant piece of cinnamon twist. I closed my eyes as she finished, but I could still feel her there, my lower lip hot and numb. I sucked it into my mouth and licked off her touch.

"Thanks," I whispered.

Santana gave me a nervous smile, bending her head back into her coffee.

"So..." I said.

"So..." Santana repeated.

"So, is this like a date?" I asked quickly.

She laughed, her perfect nose crinkling into a mess of caramel lines. "Oh, please. I know this place is like a breeding ground for lesbian hippies and jicama-eating Tegan and Sara fans, but no. I just think coffeehouses are cool, okay? Besides, I like guys. I mean, that Puck dude in your Glee Club is fucking hot! I needs to get my mack on with him ASAP."

"Sure," I replied. "I guess he's hot."

"You guess? You _do_ have eyes, don't you, Brittany?"

I jammed the rest of my cinnamon twist cookie in my mouth and choked it down. I decided I wasn't gonna look at her face anymore, at least not until I was finished my raspberry tea.

"But you kissed me," I spoke into the last few drops of steaming water. My eyes slid upwards to peer at her.

Santana only dug a hand inside of her shirt to tug at her bra strap. "This thing always falls," she muttered. "What time is it? Is it eight yet?"

"What happens at eight?" I asked.

She scanned the coffeehouse as a burst of applause struck my ears and the lights went down.


	24. Chapter 24

**All of the awesome reviews definitely wanna make me update quickly ;) I'm glad y'all are digging the characterization of Brittany. I've sort of modeled her as someone with Aspie traits 'cuz that's how I imagine her to be. ****There will be more to the Quinn story in upcoming chapters. Sorry, next few are quite short again.**

**Chapter 24**

I glanced at Santana as her eyes came in to meet mine. She rolled her chair around the edge of the table and sat down next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her chipped-black nails ran tiny circles over my shirt.

"I'm gonna sing," she said. "I thought it'd be okay 'cuz nobody here knows me."

"Oh..."

Her face glowed in the candlelight. She looked like an angel, some kind of broken angel crashed down to Earth, a mess of limbs shoved into leather. Her black bangs slid into her eyes and she smiled at me.

I felt my hand rise up to push them back, but she pushed first, scraping them out of the way.

"It's open-mic night," Santana explained, her lips so close I could feel the vibration. "Everyone else is gonna suck though. So, we'll just listen to me then leave."

"That's mean," I replied.

She rose an eyebrow over one heroin eye. "Just keeping it real, Brittany."

My heart was attacking me. BANG, BANG, BANG. Her leg moved next to mine, gliding along my calf. I looked down at her familiar boots. I knew what her toes looked like inside of them. I knew how they felt. I knew how her skin looked on her bed pressed next to mine.

I let my gaze fall in my lap. I grabbed at my fingers, curling them up against my palm just like those cinnamon twist cookies.

"Santana Lopez," a woman with short, red hair called from the stage.

"That's me," Santana said, jumping up in a black flash. She bit her lip and stood there for a moment, staring at the stage. "Yeah, that's me," she repeated, under her breath.

I watched her suck it into her chest, her boobs rising and falling. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. She rushed for the stage and her boots sounded like thunder, crashing into the floor.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Santana grabbed the mic with a force I'd never seen before. It was like it was already a part of her, her arm or her hair or her face. She already knew it. She already knew how it felt.

"Hi," she said, nodding towards the audience. She dug her hips into the mic stand, a grin sliding into the spaces between her full cheeks. "This is a song for my friend, Brittany. I'm not so hot at talking- I mean, when it matters- so I thought I'd sing instead. I don't have a guitar or anything. Sorry. So..." Her nails dug into the metal stand. "Anyways, this is a Stevie Nicks song."

She closed her eyes, her lashes curled along her skin, and opened her mouth.

_"And the summer became the fall_

_I was not ready for the winter_

_It makes no difference at all_

_'Cuz I wear boots all summer long..."_

I stared at her long fingers as they hugged the mic, the black polish on her nails shining under the lights above her. She opened her eyes and snuck a glance at me.

_"My eye makeup is dark and it's careless_

_Same circles around my eyes_

_Sometimes the real color of my skin_

_Is my eyes without any shadow..."_

My chest felt empty and hollow, like a sky carved free of stars. My mouth went dry. I wished I hadn't finished all of my tea.

Santana bent her head into the mic, her long black hair falling over her face. She was hiding, her dark eyes and her bruises, shrouded beneath that leather jacket. Her boots dug into the wood of the stage as her rough voice rang out.

"_And when I call_

_Will you walk gently_

_Thru my shadow_

_The ones who sing at night_

_The ones who sing at night_

_The ones you dream of_

_The ones who walk away_

_Capes pulled around them tight_

_Cryin' for the night_

_Cry for the nightbird...tonite..."_

Her voice was so beautiful, so raw and full of tears. It was like a scratch on my skin in this tiny room, like a scratch in my brain I couldn't itch free. I clutched my arms, rubbing them until I couldn't feel anything anymore. My breath froze in my throat. This was the song I'd first heard her singing. This was the song that had left her voice inside of me.

Santana finished and looked up at the audience with watery eyes. But really, she was only looking at me, planting that same sad smile from her bedroom directly on me. She sniffed as a single tear slid down her cheek. "Thanks," she said, wiping it away with the tip of her finger.

I heard a girl behind me whisper, "Shit, that was depressing."

And then Santana's black typhoon swirled off the stage, down the short stairs and disappeared.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

I found her in the bathroom, bent over the sink. Her arms were spread out before her, her palms jammed into the ceramic. Her hot breath left a circle on the cold mirror.

I stood in the doorframe for a moment, studying her. She did _look_ like a shadow then. Was I supposed to walk through her? How could I walk through her unless I was a shadow too? I tugged at the strap of her book bag, hanging off of my right shoulder.

She whirled around, her dark eyes wide and full of fear. "Shit," she breathed, slapping a hand to her heart. "You scared me."

"Hey," I answered, coming up behind her and letting the door slam shut. "I brought you your bag."

I set it down on the floor and scanned the bathroom. There was a mannequin in the corner, painted gold and covered with newspaper clippings. I wondered how long someone had kept them whole before cutting them up, if the stories were older than me and Santana.

"Thanks," she repeated. "You gotta pee?"

"No..."

"Number two? Those cookies probably did it."

"No. I was coming to find you."

She smirked. "Oh, yeah? You worried about me again?"

I bit my lip and stared until she blinked and broke it.

"Anyways, did you like that song?" she asked. "Did you understand what I was trying to say to you?"

I frowned and shook my head. "No, not really."

Her eyes fell. "That's okay." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and bent back into the sink. I watched her sigh, her fingers dancing across the porcelain. "Whatever."

"Can you explain it to me?"

"I'm not good at talking. Remember?" She laughed and I could hear the sadness caught in her throat. It was back again. "You know how sometimes music is the only fucking thing that keeps you together? Like sometimes I just wanna scream 'cuz I love it so much. Or stab somebody 'cuz I love it so much," she rambled. "You know, like when you hear a song and it says everything you're thinking, how good it feels to know that someone else is just as fucked-up as you?"

I looked down at her foot, tapping a black spot along the floor tiles.

"Is that really how you feel?" I asked.

She shrugged. The rest of her lay silent.

"I'm not smart," I told her. "But maybe I can understand. A little. Maybe, I think, you feel like you're only the shadow of a person sometimes. And you just wish that someone would notice you're there." I brought a hand to my mouth, my pinky, and bit at it. "But I don't know. I'm failing like all of my classes."

Santana pressed her lips together in a tight smile, her eyes filling with tears. She stepped towards me and took my hand in her own. Her thumb slid over my knuckles. It was so cold, cold from the sink. "You shouldn't bite your nails," she whispered, pulling my finger out of my mouth. "Guys don't like your hands to look like theirs when you suck them off. It's not hot."

"Yeah, I know," I mumbled, dragging my hands back into myself. I clasped them in front of me.

"Right."

I stood there gazing at her, her beautiful watery eyes overflowing with darkness. She was drowning me. She was gonna drown me if I didn't say it.

"Girls like it when you have short nails though," I spit out.

Santana gave me a funny look. And then it felt like a subway train was running over my chest and my ribs were the tracks and every single one of them was cracking. I drew in a breath and slid into the corner.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "Brittany, what the hell?"

"Nothing. Never mind. Quinn told me never to tell anyone. And she likes Finn anyway."

"Quinn? Quinn Fabray?" Santana's eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms over her chest. "That prissy bitch who walks around like she's got a stick up her ass that's covered in peanut butter?"

I peered across the room at her and stuck my finger back between my teeth.

"She's in my history class," Santana said. She bent down and picked her bag up off of the floor, drawing her iPhone out of the front compartment. "Shit, it's 9:27."

"Really?"

She nodded, dropping her phone back into her bag and pulling it over her shoulders. "Okay. So we should go then. I'll walk you home." She turned her back to me and twisted the faucet above the sink. A stream of water rushed out. "And I'll go home too." She ran her hands under the water, then sent a splash to her pink cheeks. "Fuck, that's cold!"

When she came back around to face me, there were beads on her chin and beads in her hair, a gentle smile crossing her face.

I gave her one back, forgetting about Quinn for a moment, forgetting about my broken ribs. "Santana?" I asked. I tugged at the sleeve of my shirt, wringing its fabric into a knot around my thumb. "Do you wanna stay over tonight? At my house? I mean, you can. If you don't wanna go home. It's okay with me. I mean, I don't mind at all."

She dug a palm into her chin, sweeping the water away. "Sure. Why not?" Her boots headed for the door. "We should totally call Domino's though. I'm starving. And I'm pretty sure those poop cookies didn't do it for you either."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

"Why is your hair so black?" Brosnan asked. Perched on her toes in a ragged pair of pajama pants and one of my old T-shirts, she reached up to stroke Santana's waves. "It looks like squid ink!"

"Knock it off!" I exclaimed, slapping her hand away.

Santana gripped my shoulder. "It's okay." She looked straight at Brosnan, her white teeth shining. "It's 'cuz my ancestors were squid people," she said with a wink.

"Really?" She rocked back and forth on the soles of her feet, her blue eyes widening into blue moons. "Do you eat squid?"

Santana made a face of disgust. "Umm, no. Why would I eat my own people? Do you? And what's your obsession with squid anyway? Did you watch some sort of Japanese porno recently?"

I rushed over to Santana and slapped my palm over her mouth.

"What's porno?" Brosnan asked. "Is that like Dragonball?"

"Exactly like Dragonball," Santana answered, her muffled words wetting my hand.

I drew it away as she gave me a naughty grin.

Brosnan poked Santana in the arm, squinting at her skin. "You're funny-looking. Are you an Indian? Like Pocahontas?" Her little blonde eyebrows narrowed into something that looked like the McDonald's sign.

"Bros!" I shouted. "That's mean!"

"Better stop making fun of me or I'll whip out my tentacles and squirt the shi..." Santana started, not missing a beat.

"Okay!" I interrupted. "Go to bed!" I ordered, pushing Brosnan out of my room. I shut the door behind me.

Her fist banged out a rhythm. "Goodnight, Brit's friend!" KNOCK. "Brit sucks!" KNOCKITY KNOCK KNOCK. "Please tell her she sucks, okay?" KNOCK KNOCK. "Goodnight!"

Santana laughed, taking a seat on my bed. She tugged her boots off and plopped them on the floor.

I gazed at her and shook my head. "Sorry. I don't usually bring friends here so it's like candy for her. I hope she didn't hurt your feelings or anything."

"No problem," she said. She fell back against the wall and closed her eyes, rubbing her lids with her index fingers. "She's sweet. You're lucky you have a sister."

"Umm...do you wanna change your clothes or anything? I have some extra pajamas."

Santana yawned. "No, I'm good."

"Okay, well, do you mind not opening your eyes then? You know, so _I_ can change?" I asked. My face was burning. I looked down at my bare feet and made my toes do the start of a dance. "Sorry."

"Whatever," she spoke quickly, waving her hand through the air. Her lashes fluttered for just a moment. "Look, I'll even turn around. It's like double the prevention of me accidentally eye-sexing you." She swiveled around and struck the wall. "Fuck!" She exclaimed, grabbing at her arm. "Shit, that fucking hurt."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answered, massaging her elbow. "Just get changed already."

From my dresser I pulled out a pair of plaid shorts and a tank top. There was a brown mark near the neck. What was it? Coffee? Chocolate? Maybe she wouldn't notice.

I slipped off my shirt, watching it drip to the floor in a white puddle. My bra came unhooked. My breasts skimmed the cool air. I pushed my pants down to my ankles and kicked them off with my feet.

I glanced over at Santana. Her head was at an angle, her breathing steady and shallow, her arms wrapped around my stuffed cat.

I was a naked spot, standing there in my underwear with my arms crossed over my chest. If she turned around for only a second she'd see all of my flaws: my weird eyes that curved up at the corners like those glasses ladies used to wear a long time ago, my too-long nose that ended in a point, the moles on my stomach, the tiny freckles that dotted my cheeks, my bumpy knees and my big feet.

I yanked on my shorts, the tank top with its obvious stain. Of course she would notice. She had ESP. She seemed to notice everything.

She was tapping a song out on my wall when I told her, "Okay."

She spun around to face me, her dark eyes full of stars. "I like your cat. The fake one, I mean. He smells like you."

I blushed, one hand instinctively rising to close over the splotch on my tank top. I curled the cotton in between my fist. "His name's Mucho Bucho. It doesn't mean anything. It just came to me in a dream."

There was a rap on my door, my mother's tender voice. "You girls okay in there? Do you need anything? I made cookies."

Santana gave me a funny smile. POOP, she mouthed with her mauve lips.

"No, Mom!" I yelled, a little too loudly. "We're just getting ready for bed."

"Well, maybe it's too late for cookies," her voice went on. "They'll give you nightmares."

Santana looked across the room at me, one eyebrow rising.

"She thinks sugar causes all of the bad dreams in the world," I whispered.

Santana nodded. "Of course."

"Can I say goodnight?" my mother asked through the wood.

I sighed and twisted the doorknob. My mom was waiting there on the other side in her slippers, her long mane of honey hair puffed out around her scrubbed-pink face. She smelled like Dove soap and rosemary. Her jaw was full of a smile.

Santana smiled back at her. "Thank you, Mrs. Pierce. For letting me stay over here tonight."

I watched my mom walk over to her. "Oh, it's no problem!" She massaged Santana's arm. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're feeling better since your food poisoning scare!"

Santana's eyes narrowed. She paused for a moment to glance at me, then nodded. "Right..."

"That Mamma Illardo's is dangerous!" my mother said.

Santana gazed up at her the way Brosnan still did sometimes, the way a little girl looks at her mother when she only wants to feel her there.

"Goodnight, sweetie," my mother said, bending down to pull Santana into her. "Make sure you tell Brittany if you want any of those cookies. They're butterscotch. I crushed the candies up myself."

"Okay," Santana breathed into my mom's hair.

"Night, Brit." My mother came across the room to grab me in a tight hug, rocking me back and forth within her arms. "I love you." She kissed my forehead then pulled away. "Goodnight."

Santana curled her fingers down in a wave.

"Oh, you too!" she shouted, placing her palms on Santana's cheeks and gently kissing the left one. "Goodnight again. You can never have too many goodnights."

Santana's eyes shut, a smile crossing her lips. My mom patted the space where her kiss mark remained and closed the door behind us. I stood in place, staring at Santana while she stared at the door. My toes curled into the carpet. The silence between us sank down, and it felt as heavy as the patchwork quilt that held Santana's skinny legs to my bed.


	28. Chapter 28

**Thanks once again for the reviews, guys! I'm really glad you are enjoying the story as much as you are.**

**Chapter 28**

She was sleeping. It was dark, too dark. I couldn't see her. But I could feel her next to me, her body pressed against my thighs, her breath at my nose. She smelled like her perfume and she smelled like someplace warm, like the beach in summer before it got too hot.

I could touch her. I could curl my fingers around hers and hold her hand. I could push myself into her until she made a sound. I could leave my kiss on her lips. Would it feel different from the first time? Would it feel different 'cuz my bedroom was different from hers, 'cuz the lights were off and it was cool and dark and peaceful?

And then, through the darkness, I heard a scream.

My father. His high-pitched moan, full of gravel, the sound of metal piercing flesh. It sounded like a car crash in my ears.

"No, God! Please! Please, no! God, stop!"

I fumbled at my bedside for the headphones I always kept on the nightstand. In my dad's old Walkman was a cassette of his favorite band, The Ramones. I slapped the headphones over my ears and turned the volume up to 10.

_"Sheena is a punk rocker, _

_Sheena is a punk rocker,_

_Sheena is a punk rocker,_

_Well, she's a punk, punk, a punk rocker,_

_Punk, punk, a punk rocker..."_

My eyes squeezed shut, that guitar in my head grew louder and louder and louder. Santana shifted beside me, her hand reaching out to graze my hip, her fingers rapping. I slowly slipped the left side of my headphones off, that not-so-distant sound of Joey's voice still shouting at me. But, on the outside, it was quiet. I pressed the square STOP button.

"Brittany, what the hell was that? The zombie apocalypse?" Santana asked, rubbing at her eyes.

"My dad," I answered softly.

"Oh," she breathed. "Is he okay?"

"For now."

She looked at me, at the headphones lopsided on my mess of hair, the Walkman still clutched in my right hand. "Here," she whispered, taking it away. Her fingers glided over my own, pulling the plastic box from my grip. "I'll take it." She slipped the headphones off of my head. They fell into the crack of sheets between us.

"I'm sorry he woke you up," I said, bowing my head.

"He woke _you_ up too."

"Yeah, but I'm used to it."

"Really?" she asked, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Are you?" She brushed at my sweat-soaked locks of blonde hair.

I buried my chin in the stain on my tank top.

"I'm sorry," Santana apologized, drawing her hand back into her chest.

"Me too," I whispered.

I felt that terrible feeling in my throat again, like someone's hand was in there and choking me. I got punched. The tears filled my eyes, dripping down my cheeks.

"I really wish your dad could fix him, " I choked out. "Can plastic surgeons do that?"

"No," Santana said. She dragged her body into mine and wrapped her arms around me. "I'm sorry, Brittany."

I buried my face in her hair and sobbed, the smell of her watermelon shampoo mixing with the salt in my tears. She squeezed me harder, so hard that I thought she might break my shoulders. I closed my eyes. My wet lashes left wet lines under my eyes. Santana kissed my cheek, humming a melody in my ear that sounded so beautiful it made me wanna start crying all over again.

"Go to sleep," she told me.

"Don't let go of me," I begged, grabbing for her hand.

She took my fingers and pressed hers to mine. "I won't. And I'll stay up for you," she whispered. "In case you need your headphones again."

I couldn't see her face. It was too dark and she was too close to me. But I imagined she might have been smiling. And that her kind, dark, empty eyes were glowing through me like fireflies.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

I rolled over onto the plastic circles of my headphones. Santana must have put them back on my head after I'd fallen asleep. The tape was over. Her iPhone was beeping, my alarm clock illuminated on the edge of my nightstand.

It was 5:00 A.M.

"Santana?" I whispered.

I yanked the headphones off of my ears and blinked. My lashes were crusty and coated with dried tears. If I didn't remember crying last night, I would have thought the gnomes in the basement had painted my eyes with their magic dust.

Santana didn't answer me. Her sharp, rough voice spoke into her phone, "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming back now. Ten minutes, I promise. Seriously. Ten minutes." She snapped the phone shut and nudged me in the shoulder. "I've gotta go, Brit. Sorry." Her words were rushed and full of wind.

She swirled to her feet and grabbed her backpack from its place on the floor. "Fuck," she spoke, under her breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What?" I asked with a yawn, pulling myself up into a sloppy L shape. "What's going on?"

"My mom is gonna kill me," she hissed.

I knew that when other kids at school said stuff like that, they didn't really mean it. But my heart started beating really funny when Santana said it. Peter Rabbit was jumping all over me. I took a breath, jamming my fist into my ribcage.

"Santana..."

She gave me a quick smile and ran back over to my bed. She grasped my face in her hands, her eyes bleeding all over me. I could hardly breathe at all now. She was staring, staring like she had something to say that she couldn't make come out of her mouth. She pressed her lips to mine and kissed me and it felt like a punch.

I could still feel it long after she'd climbed out of my window and down the tree outside.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

She lurched into English class on time. Mrs. Templeton ignored the moment as Santana dug her chin into her neck, her shoulders drawn up in Vs to scrape her pink cheeks. I followed her with my eyes as she came in beside me.

She winced when her ass hit the seat. "Shit," she spoke under her breath. She repositioned her body, an odd shape that didn't seem to make any sense: arms askew, back drawn away, sitting on nothing so that her hips wouldn't have to touch the chair. She never said a word.

"Hey," I whispered. "Santana..."

Silence.

She rummaged through her bag, coming up with the Hello Kitty! pen I had given her. It seemed so long ago now, so long ago that she had clicked out that rainbow through the air in front of me and chosen red.

She tore a piece of paper out of her notebook. The loose leaf edges hung on like wobbly baby teeth. I wondered if the Tooth Fairy had ever been tricked with pieces of loose leaf paper. I bet she had.

Santana folded the paper up and pressed it into my waiting hand. The red words said: _"Sorry for last night. My mom called so I had to split."_

I looked across at her as she rubbed her arms. Her mascara was smeared, her hair tousled.

I wrote back: _"Are you okay? Was she mad?"_

She read my words and closed her eyes, just for a second. They fluttered open again with another scratch of Hello Kitty!'s ink.

_"That's an understatement."_

I held the paper in my fist. No more writing. "Why don't you tell someone?" I asked in a whisper.

She stared at me and gave a tiny laugh. "It is what it is, Brittany." Her fingers reached across our valley of floor, grabbing the note from my hand. She flipped it over, writing furiously.

When I got it back, it said: _"I'll be 18 in 2 years. It's better this way than going into foster care. I lied about my cousin. She doesn't want me either. So fuck it. PS- please don't tell anyone."_

I gave Santana a quiet nod. No, I wouldn't tell. I wouldn't tell her secrets. It wasn't right to do that. Quinn had taught me well, her hands all over me in the locker room last year as I bit my lip and held everything on the inside.

I wadded the paper up into a crooked square, unzipped my backpack and shoved it into my copy of The Scarlet Letter. I looked up at Santana as she pulled a plastic bottle of orange juice from her own bag. It was too pale. It was too pale to be orange juice.

She drank half of it and held it in her lap. Her fingers lingered over the too-shiny label, her scratched knuckles bent around its base, clutching on for dear life.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

I pulled my peanut butter sandwich out of my bag, lunch alone in the courtyard under the flaming autumn leaves.

I looked up at them and saw Santana's favorite color. I looked up and saw her sadness, that bruise on her skin and the tears in her eyes. Her body in bed next to mine. That rum-soaked kiss, still flowing through my blood and burning.

The leaves were almost as red as my old Cheerios outfit. When I squinted I could see Quinn in the tree too, her ass in her skirt, her lips smiling at me as she left me behind in the locker room.

It was why I was sitting out here alone. There was too much Santana in my head. There was too much Quinn in there too.

I poked my index finger into the soft white bread of my sandwich. I made a little tunnel. I made a little eye. I picked up the sandwich and held it to my face, itchy crumbs gathering all over my nose. Through my peanut butter hole everything looked different, smaller and not as scary, and the world smelled doughy and nutty and sweet.

Out of the little eye I saw Santana stroll past. She threw her fist into the bark of the tree parallel me and shouted. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" One punch for each word. The scratches on her knuckles opened up and made red stitches on her skin.

I thought I probably should have put my peanut butter eye away then, but it was like watching a movie instead of real life. I didn't have to feel the things I was supposed to be feeling, watching the blood gather on Santana's hand. I could just pretend that the TV was on.

Santana came up to me and laughed. "What the hell are you doing, Brittany? Is this like the Sesame Street version of 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?'" She yanked my sandwich away from my face.

I didn't bother to yank it back. It fell in the grass next to my knee.

"Sorry," Santana muttered. "You didn't wanna eat that, did you?"

I looked down at my peanut butter eye, closed now forever, and shook my head.

She sat down beside me, too close, her thighs hot against my own. She placed one palm to her side and grimaced. It hurt. It hurt for her to sit down.

_It hurts._

I licked the Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers off of my lips, my fingers crawling across the grass to linger on the crusts of my sandwich.

"Do you always punch trees?" I asked Santana.

"I punch lots of things," she said matter-of-factly. "You know, when other things don't work." She swiped at my cheek with her thumb. "You've got sandwich on your face."

Her eyes met mine and I reached up to take her hand, to return it to her own lap. But she pulled away before I could.

"Anyways, I'm okay now. So don't worry about me," she said. "All right?"

Her breath at my nose smelled like alcohol. She wasn't okay. Of course she wasn't. But I knew better than to question her. I stared at the grass instead.

We sat there in silence for what felt like a day. I didn't have anything else to eat. It was a good thing I wasn't hungry.

"So...why aren't you sitting with your lameass Glee Club friends today?" Santana asked finally. "That Quinn chick? She's in there with you, right?"

I took a breath then swallowed it. "Yeah."

"She's a bitch," Santana remarked. "I'm in her history class."

"I know. You told me."

"She doesn't have any idea who I am. It's like I'm invisible to her. I think she only sees the things she wants to see," Santana said, directing her gaze back on me. She bit her lip and looked down, moving her leg away from mine and ripping a chunk of grass from the ground. The dirt stained the bloody parts of her hand and turned her skin maroon. "Whatever though. She'll be pumping our gas after me and you become huge international stars. She's a total Lima loser."

"Brittany!" the familiar voice came at my ear.

Quinn.

It was just like a movie. It was really just like a movie, the movie I'd been watching through my peanut butter eye. Except that now it was a very very bad movie and I just wanted to get my money back and run home.

"Brittany, why are you sitting out here?" Quinn asked. She made a face at Santana. "With her?"

Santana smirked. "Hello, Fabray. Remember me? I met you in the cafeteria. Oh, and I'm in your history class too, though maybe you don't recognize my sweet ass 'cuz I sit in the back and spend most of my time sexting Finn Hudson. But hello again," she said, standing up and holding her hand out for Quinn to take.

She glared at Santana, her hazel eyes growing red at the corners. "I'm not here to talk to _you_, so why don't you just go back to your mobile home?"

Santana laughed, slapping a palm to her chest. "Wow! Did you get that insult from like 1982 or something?" She grinned, giving Quinn a slow clap. "Yay."

Santana dug her boots into the ground. I arched my neck to look up at her. She looked like a giant that had just fallen out of its beanstalk. She wasn't going anywhere.

Quinn turned her head away from Santana, planting her angry eyes on me. "I just wanted to let you know that Dave's having another party this weekend. I really think we should go together." Her beautiful porcelain face broke a little. She smiled sweetly and added, "It'll be fun."

My eyes passed from Quinn to Santana. Red. Black. Red. Black. I started to feel dizzy. I put a hand to my forehead and leaned into the tree.

"Okay," I said to Quinn. "We can go."

She pressed her hands together and drew them to her breasts. "Great. Well, you'd better hurry up. It's almost time for science." She glanced at Santana, who was still standing beside me, her arms crossed and a blank expression on her face. "Brittany, why is your sandwich in the grass?"

"I was feeding the birds," I answered.

Quinn shook her head. "Sure. Well, come on. I'll wait for you by the lockers." She took one last look at Santana then spun on her heels and left.

I peered up at Santana. She was scratching her nose and watching Quinn's back as she faded away. "So this is like gonna be a really bigass party, huh?" she asked me.


	32. Chapter 32

**Thanks again for the awesome reviews! I'm sorry I can't write longer chapters for y'all. My style of writing is kind of difficult and a bit like draining my own blood out of my body (okay, that was excessive). LOL. Anyway, I hope you keep reading!**

**Chapter 32**

She dragged me into the handicapped bathroom next to Principal Figgins' office before I could meet Quinn, locking the door behind us.

"You can't do that, Santana." I stepped into the corner and held onto the strap of my backpack. Tight. "Someone might need to go."

She made a face. "I'm pretty sure there aren't even any crippled kids at this school. They only put a handicapped bathroom in here so the teachers can toke up in privacy before classes. That Mrs. Templeton chick is a _total _weedhead."

"Artie's handicapped. Only his hands work."

"Artie?" she asked, peering at her reflection in the mirror. "Who the hell is that?" She smoothed the tiny, black curls at her hairline.

"He's in Glee Club with me."

Santana snorted. "Oh, him? I thought he made that chair in art class or something. What's with the blinky lights?"

I watched her as she turned around, her eyes zooming in to meet mine. They felt like rockets. Her face softened, her hands suddenly clutched in front of her legs and wringing themselves into cinnamon twist cookies.

"Look..." she started. "I just wanted to talk to you in private. Okay?"

I bit at my lip, squeezing the strap over my shoulder.

"How's your dad?" Santana asked.

I shrugged.

Her dark eyes clouded over into the kinds of clouds that rain. "I put your headphones back on last night. He was screaming pretty loud. You didn't hear that, did you?"

I shook my head.

Santana gave me a sharp nod. "Good."

She stood there, twisting her fingers until I thought they actually _were_ those cookies, come to life, and were gonna snap into little buttery shards. I kept my eyes on her. My stomach was growling. I was hungry after all. Her hands stayed intact.

"What do you wanna talk about?" I asked her.

"What's the deal with you and Fabray?"

"Nothing," I replied, looking down at the floor. My feet were extra big today. "I never made any deal with her. Quinn says gambling's bad 'cuz she's a Christian."

A deep, throaty laugh echoed throughout the bathroom. Santana stuck her cinnamon fingers in front of her mouth to keep her giggles inside, just the way Quinn did when we were making fun of Rachel.

"Oh, God, this just keeps getting better," she remarked. "I swear, it's like this bitch was written by some FOX executive."

"Huh?"

Santana waved a hand beside her face. "Never mind." Her eyes narrowed as she came in beside me, planting her back on the same wall I'd slid into. She clenched her teeth, her eyes filling with water. "Shit," she breathed.

I was staring at her then, studying her leather-coated chest, the cuts on her hands and the dirt caked under her nails.

_"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"_

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Oh." She sighed, dragging her arms into her body and crossing them. "Dammit, Brittany, just let it be."

"But I can't do anything about it."

"Yeah, that's right," she snapped. "You can't. So just forget it, okay?" As soon as the words came out she closed her mouth and shook her head. "Sorry. Sorry, Brittany." She tapped a melody out on her bicep with one hand.

I took her dancing index finger between two of my own and held it until her little cinnamon sparkles fell all over me. "Can I see them?" I asked nervously.

Her eyes closed. In silence she unzipped her jacket, a thin red shirt staring back at me. She lifted it with fumbling fingers.

Her stomach was the same caramel color as the rest of her. It was flat, like a boy's. She didn't have any hips or fat parts or anything. She just went straight down, in a straight line, the slight bones of her pelvis protruding enough that it made me wanna rest my hands on them.

Her belly button was pierced with something that looked like a diamond. She wore a black padded bra and, when she exhaled, her small breasts filled it up more than they should have. Past them, and past her ribs, was a string of dark brown bruises. They ran circles around her body. DOT DOT DOT. It was like they were in a race, but all of them were winning.

My own chest got punched. I bent my head and sucked in a tiny breath.

"Please don't tell anyone, Brittany," Santana whispered. "Seriously. I mean it."

I faced her and lay one hand on her side. She winced, quickly pulling my hand away, my fingers curled into a ball inside of hers. She dropped it at her waist.

"Don't," she said, zipping her jacket back up. Her eyes went dead.

"I don't like Quinn," I said quietly. "She's not a nice person."

"Yeah?" Santana replied. "Me neither." She shifted in her boots and walked away, dragging her fingers along all of the handicapped toilet stalls.

Her nails were too short to leave behind any noise.


	33. Chapter 33

**Sorry, guys. In light of the current Dianna shenanigans, I can barely concentrate on writing! So short chapters.**

**Chapter 33**

Even though Quinn had told me to, I wasn't gonna dress like THEM. I couldn't walk in heels and I didn't like tight jeans or lipstick or glittery eye shadow. I didn't spray myself with perfume 'cuz I didn't wanna smell like a department store.

I took a shower at 6:15, shampooing my long hair with Kenra, washing my body with a shrinking bar of mango soap from The Body Shop. I ran a comb over my head and dried myself off. The fruit-scented water dripped off of me. It hit the carpet in my bedroom, making the beige go brown.

My floor became a swamp. I wondered if the gnomes would come back. Or maybe they only liked dry places, like the basement.

I wrapped a towel around myself and opened my closet. I wasn't like THEM. I wasn't like Quinn. I didn't care what THEY thought of me.

I stood there in front of my mirror, Rainbow Brite stickers curling over its edges. I pressed a finger to them. I wished they were straight. I wished I could see what they'd first looked like when my mother put them there, what my mother looked like when she was a little kid.

What kinds of clothes did they wear in the eighties?

From my closet I yanked out my black and white striped leotard and my loose HAPPY shirt. From my dresser, a pair of parachute pants and a pink pair of socks.

I looked like me. I looked like I always did.

THEY'd hate it. THEY'd make fun of me for sure: _"Jesus, Brittany! Do you even have tits? I'm not into dancing grannies." _And then they'd laugh until it turned into the kind of laughter they play on bad sitcoms, all tinny and metallic and throbbing.

I looked down at my chest, running my fingers over my boobs. Even if I stuck them out, no one would be able to see them. Not really. Not under my HAPPY shirt.

It was 6:52.

Quinn would be here any minute.

6:55.

I stood in front of the mirror and lifted my shirt, staring at my dancer's stomach. I rubbed a tiny circle over my belly button. "Good luck," I whispered to it. "Rub for good luck." On top of my dresser was my glass turtle necklace. I grabbed at it, fastening it around my neck and returning to the mirror.

I looked weird. I looked like a blonde cat, just like Santana said. My hands at my waist were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets.

"Be quiet. Stop," I hissed.

6:57.

Quinn would be here any minute.


	34. Chapter 34

**Well, now that Shirtgate has ended...sorry, Dianna, for making Quinn such a bitch when you are the loveliest of people :) Now back to the angst.**

**Chapter 34**

She clutched my hand the whole way from her Mazda to Dave's door, as if letting go might have meant I'd run.

I might have.

"You should ask Dave out," Quinn said. "After a few drinks."

Her shoulder in a pretty white dress was glued to mine, her fingers gently pressing themselves against my knuckles. She had such milky skin. It was almost the same color as mine. It was the opposite of Santana's.

"I'll help you if you want," Quinn continued.

I looked across at her bright smile, fuzzy and pink beneath the streetlights. "I don't like him, Quinn," I muttered. "I only came tonight 'cuz you asked me to."

Her smile faded into a hazy frown. She yanked her hand out of mine and walked me off of the street and behind some stranger's car. I shook my fingers free of her.

"Look, Brittany, I don't know what's been going on with you lately- especially with that horrible Mexican girl you've been hanging out with..."

"She's not horrible," I interrupted. "And she's not Mexican either."

Quinn held one up one white palm. "Whatever. All I know is you need to stop dressing like _this_," she hissed, pinching the collar of my shirt in disgust, "or no guy will ever go out with you."

"Who says I want a guy?" I whispered.

Quinn opened her mouth in an O and snorted. "No. Just no, Brittany." She leaned in to me, her cheeks red and her eyes flaming. "You are not gay."

I bit my lip and turned my head, gazing off at the streetlights. They looked like little moons. If I could just keep my eyes on them, just for a second, maybe I could leave this stupid Earth.

_Bye-bye._

I felt Quinn's palm at my jaw, twisting me back into reality. "Brittany, you're not." Her hazel eyes grew soft. "You're not. You've slept with almost the entire football team, remember? You're not gay."

"And you're not either?" I asked.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead with two slender fingers. "Didn't we talk about this already?"

"But I don't understand..."

"Yeah, you're a little slow with things," Quinn snapped.

I looked down at the ground, at my white sneakers and the sketch of pink socks. All I had to do was run. All I had to do was run like it was a dance.

"Do you like me, Quinn?" I decided to ask instead.

"Of course I like you, Brittany," I heard her say with a sigh. "We've been friends for a long time."

When I looked up to meet her eyes, she gave me a tiny smile, stretching her hand out before me. "Come on," she said.

She walked the both of us back down the street. I couldn't feel my legs anymore. There was no way I could run.

Dave Karofsky's house loomed before us. I'd never been here before, but I could imagine what it looked like on the inside and how it smelled, like Lord Tubbington's little yellow teeth and like his breath when he ate too many Cheetos.

I froze in my tracks under the streetlights.

On Dave's lawn a crowd of kids had gathered, teeming in towards the open door. I looked down at Quinn's fingers, laced tightly between my own. She scanned the clot of people. I stared into her eyes. She dropped my hand and pulled away from me.


	35. Chapter 35

**Thank you to the new reviewers! Santana will return next chapter, for those of you waiting.**

**Chapter 35**

"Wow, Brittany, hi," Dave said, greeting us. He was bent into the doorframe, chugging a Corona, looking me up and down. "I didn't think you'd show."

"Yeah, she's with me," Quinn chirped. I watched her flirt with him, making her lashes jump like butterflies. "Okay, sorry, but I really need to use your bathroom," she said. "I'll leave you two alone." She patted me on the shoulder and walked off through the living room and down the hallway.

Dave gave me a nervous smile, the Corona brought to his lips, his chunky fingers dancing along the bottle. He was built like a statue. He looked like something I'd seen in a museum once. If his arms hadn't been so tan, I would have been tempted to lift up his T-shirt and check for marble.

He was the only guy on the football team I hadn't done yet. I should have had a perfect record.

"So..." Dave started, closing the front door behind us. "It's really cool that you came. I know I'm like Duke Stud at McKinley," he said, pressing his chest out in my direction. "Must be a little intimidating for someone like you."

"Someone like me?" I asked.

"Yeah, I mean..." he stuttered, digging his nails into his Corona bottle. "You know..."

I ignored the expression on his face 'cuz I knew what he was gonna say next. I walked away from him and into the living room, watching everyone chat around me. It was like I was watching another movie, except I had no peanut butter eye to make things softer or sweeter this time around.

Puck and Finn were on the couch, laughing. Their plastic cups were full of beer. There was a cloud of girls around them in low-cut blouses and heels that made their legs look like they should have been on a bird's. And then there was me in my dance clothes. I stood alone in the middle of the carpet.

"Hey, Brittany," Finn said finally. "How's it going?"

"Hey," I breathed.

And that was that.

I pressed myself into the wall. My arms hung at my side, one hand in the other, thumb rubbing thumb. There was nobody here I could talk to. There was nobody here I felt safe with. The subway train came back, rushing over my ribs and making me breathe all funny, like my heart was gonna rip open and fill me with blood and drown me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of happy stuff. But the only thing I could come up with was Santana's voice in my ear, singing me to sleep, and how beautiful and peaceful it made me feel. I saw me in bed. I saw her shadow next to me. And then I heard my dad screaming. I felt my dad's back in a hug. Santana's bruises. I buried a palm in my ribcage and swallowed down the fist in my throat.

"Brittany," Dave interrupted.

My eyes snapped open. He was right in front of me, his lips wet and shining with beer.

I dropped my hand from my chest. It felt sweaty and cold and distant, like metal, like I was a robot.

"Hey," I answered.

My mouth was dryer than winter leaves. I eyed his beer. For a moment I considered grabbing it away from him and finishing it off.

"Look, sorry, I just wanted to talk to you," he said.

I shrugged. "Okay."

A dark-haired football player I'd slept with last year, Jack, came running in from the kitchen. He made a running leap at Puck. "Hey, motherfucker! This freshman bitch in there is crazy hot! Natalie. You know her? Fucking amazing titties! You've gotta feel them, man."

"Oh, yeah?" Puck questioned, grinning. "Well, I'm not really down with the young'uns..."

Jack laughed. "Oh, Jesus, you're still on that cougar kick? You're crazy."

"Yeah, that's what your mom said too. Last night, while I was banging the shit out of her on your Star Wars sheets," Puck remarked.

"Oh, fuck!" Jack's mouth swung open like a door. He burst out laughing, giving Puck a high five. The sound of their skin touching struck the air. It sounded like lightning.

Dave's body came in next to mine. I jumped away. Jack swiveled his head, slapping a palm over his mouth and shouting. "Fucking hell! Hit me baby, one more time! Brittany S. Pierce!" A spray of spit burst from his lips. "You used to be a lot hotter last year."

I looked down at the carpet. The tips of the fibers were crusted with something brown, like dried-up soda or something.

"Why don't you take off that lame Goodwill-looking shit so I can check if you still have that hot body?" Jack said, leaping over towards me and tugging at my shirt.

Finn stood up in a rush. "Hey, man, knock it off," he said, pulling Jack away from me.

Jack started laughing, stumbling over the back of the sofa and flicking Puck in the mohawk. He was so loud, so loud that everyone else heard him. A million eyes swirled at once to fall on me. The girls in their low-cut blouses giggled.

I looked over my shoulder to check for Quinn, but she wasn't there. I looked down at my sneakers and made them run upstairs.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

I walked around Dave's bedroom by myself. I knew it was his 'cuz Quinn had told me he was an only child. The walls were bare blue. There wasn't even a nudie poster. There was only a line of wooden shelves, weighed down by trophies and ribbons dating back to junior high school.

He had a big flat-screen TV, 40 inches, a Sharp Aquos. Next to it was a stack of stupid comedy DVDs. I flipped through them absentmindedly- "Superbad," "Dumb and Dumber," "Dazed and Confused"- listening to the voices downstairs as they laughed and cursed and shouted.

I took a seat on Dave's floor. When I closed my eyes I could see the whole living room. I could see everyone else's faces and they snapped into place in my head like a puzzle, all of them fitting together.

"Hey, what are you doing in here?" Quinn asked. "I can't even go to the bathroom for one minute?"

My lids flew open. I didn't hear the knock, the door opening and then closing again. Quinn loomed there like a ghost in her white dress and her white skin. She floated into the room and sighed, closing the door behind her.

"It was more than one minute," I answered. "I think it was at least five."

Quinn folded her arms across her chest, her hazel eyes sparking. "Come on and get up, Brittany. This is ridiculous. If you don't go back downstairs, everyone is gonna make fun of us. They already think you're weird enough. Don't throw fuel on the fire."

"Shut up," I snapped. "Leave me alone." I jumped up and ran over to the window.

_Fuel on the fire..._

I was sure it wasn't how she meant it, but that's how I felt then. Like I was on fire. Like Quinn had just stuck me on a stick and was making a S'more out of me.

Her face grew soft. She followed me over to the window and took me by the arm. "Do you want me to take you home?" she asked. "I mean, if that's what you want, I'll just tell everyone you got sick and puked."

"But I didn't drink anything," I muttered, making sure I didn't meet her eyes.

"You wanna go somewhere else then?" Her fingers hit my ear, smoothing a strand of my hair, striking my tragus piercing. "Just us?"

She leaned into me. She smelled like baby powder and honeysuckle and the grass on her parents' front lawn. I could feel her breath at my cheek. Any second now she was gonna kiss me again. She was gonna take another part of me I'd have to hide under my dance clothes.

"No! Stop it!" I shouted, knocking her in the shoulder.

My fist collided with her collarbone, the sound booming in my face at the same time something else screeched behind me. I slapped my palms over my ears and spun around.

The window was open and Santana's knees were on the sill, her painted nails digging into the metal as she panted.

"Hey, guys." Gasp, pant. "What's up?" Pant, pant. She smirked, crashing to the floor in a mess of limbs and letting out a painful moan. She stood up in a flash and brushed herself off. "Yeah, I figured this must have been the house. Two blonde white girls in the window." She clicked her tongue and winked. "Bingo. High school party in Ohio."

"What the hell are you doing?" Quinn exclaimed, stepping away from Santana, away from her square of carpet as if she'd contaminated it. "You can't just break into peoples' houses!"

"Oh, I didn't break in," Santana said. She brushed a leaf off of her jacket. It fluttered to the floor and crunched. "The window was totally open. Dave Karofsky should really be more careful. I know people who know people- in Lima Heights- who would go _all _Dillinger on this house."

Santana turned to smile at me. I hid my blushing grin behind my hand.

"Look, thing, you weren't invited to this party so why don't you just go back to Mexico?"

"Wow! Another amazing 'Why-don't-you-just-go-back-to-some-cliched-place' joke from Ms. Quinn Fabray!" Santana remarked, clapping. "When's your next show? I just love it when I can use the money I earn from dancing on poles to support up-and-coming comics like yourself."

"Don't start with me!" Quinn shouted. "I'll call the cops!"

I swiveled my head from her to Santana. I'd never seen Santana more content. I'd never seen Quinn more ready to explode.

"All right then, I'll use your own joke on you," Santana spoke, walking right into Quinn's shoes. "Why don't you just go back downstairs and fuck whatever loser guy you're using this week to pretend you don't care about Brittany? You know, before I have to beat your ass down." She smiled sweetly, smacking Quinn in the face with the back of her hand.

My mouth froze open as Quinn turned the same color red as the ink in my Hello! Kitty pen. She lunged at Santana, grabbing her by the hair and knocking her into the wall. Santana struck it like a brick. I watched as one of Dave's football trophies wobbled into jelly. It fell on its side on the shelf.

There was a bang at the door, someone's fist ringing and a guy's voice I didn't recognize "Hey, what's going on in there? If some hotass lesbian sex is happening, you could at least make it a threesome!"

"SHUT UP!" Quinn yelled at the door. "NOTHING'S GOING ON, SO JUST LEAVE US ALONE!" She yanked herself away from Santana and took a deep breath, turning to glare straight at me. She hurriedly rubbed the smack out of her cheek, smoothing the wrinkles from her perfect white dress. "Do whatever you want, Brittany," she hissed into my ear. "But I'm not like you."

Quinn threw the door open and left.

"Bye!" Santana cried out. "Thanks for the dance!" She gave me a nervous grin, swiping at her mouth with the corner of her thumb. "So...have you ever climbed down a tree before?"


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

She caught me at the bottom, my body crashing into hers in the grass and making her wince.

"Sorry," I apologized.

"Right, right, your arms suck," she mumbled, pulling me up. She gave me a funny smile and brushed the dirt off of my sleeves, her gaze meeting my chest. My HAPPY shirt. "Are you happy again today?" she asked.

"No."

Santana's eyes fell. "Oh." She peered up at the open window above us. A shadow was closing in on Dave's bedroom door. "Let's go," she hissed, wrapping her fingers around my hand and squeezing hard.

We raced down the street together, our heavy breaths synchronized, like we were twins. The streetlights blurred beside my head. The lights bled out and then in. I had to squint. I had to keep my eyes on Santana's boots instead.

She threw an arm up in front of my abdomen, stopping us both. "Let's go this way," she spoke. She nodded her head towards a side street.

We walked in silence, her shoulder grazing mine and her fingers dancing at the slim space between our thighs. I peered down at her. I could still hear her ragged breathing, coming out from between her lips. Her dark eyes were glowing. Funny how they only really glowed in the darkness, like maybe that was where she belonged.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm like Batman," she answered quickly. "I just look up into the sky and see that you're in trouble."

"Really?"

She looked at me, a weird expression on her face that looked like it wanted to go one way but then another. She pressed her lips together in a tight smile. "No, not really," she answered.

I pressed at my purple G-Shock. Its face became illuminated, forming a blue circle at my wrist.

"What time is it?" Santana asked.

"8:30," I told her.

"It's not that late."

"No, not yet."

"So you've fucked her, huh?" Santana asked suddenly. But it was like she already knew the answer 'cuz her face went all shadowy and stony. "Quinn?"

I could feel the words in my mouth, a whole bunch of them, a whole bunch of them sitting on my tongue and joining up and spelling out the entire story. If I opened my mouth they'd spill out. I bit at my lip. I could already picture them sliding down my shirt like barf. I didn't wanna have to feel sick again.

I didn't say anything. I only gazed at Santana as she stared back.

"Well," she started. "She was right about one thing. You're not like her."

"I'm not like anyone," I whispered.

"Yeah, thank God," Santana said. "I hate these people."

"It's better to be like THEM though."

"Why?" Santana asked sharply. She walked towards someone's bushes and tore off a chunk of green. "Fuck them." She rolled the mass of leaves around in her palm, squeezing harder and harder until they stained her skin. "Why does she treat you like that?" she asked, dropping the wilted piece of bush in the street. "Why do you let her treat you like that?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "We're friends. We've known each other since elementary school."

"Do you like her?" Santana kept her eyes on the ground. Her question hung like an icicle in the air. "I mean, in a gay way?"

_"Do you like her, do you like her, do you like her?"_

"I don't know."

She sighed into the collar of her leather jacket, kicking an errant pebble into the darkness straight ahead of us.

"Sometimes I feel like an alien," I whispered.

"What?"

"Sometimes I feel like an alien," I repeated. "Like I'm just watching everyone else live their lives without me." The fist came back, full of fingers and punching at my throat. "Even though I'm there, it's like I'm not there at all." Punch, punch, punch. "I just wanna feel like THEM. I just wanna be like THEM. People think I'm stupid, but it's just 'cuz I'm trying to fit into their puzzle and I don't." The tears came up, clouding my eyes. I sniffed and wiped them away with the side of my hand.

"If you're an alien, can I come live on your planet?" Santana asked.

I looked up at her and laughed through my sobs.

"Seriously, it's gotta be better than this one."

As soon as her words hit my ear I couldn't stop crying. I bent my head into my neck, letting the tears slip into my HAPPY shirt. Santana's boots made a scratching noise on the gravel. She put her arms out in silence and pulled me into the warmth of her chest, suffocating me with her leather-coated arms. She held me in the middle of the street and, even though there were houses all around us, if felt like we were on the moon or on my planet. Like we were the only two people there. Like we never had to come back down to Earth.

"Hey," Santana breathed into my hair. "I know I'm gonna lose like a hundred coolness points for turning all woobie right now, but whatever." Her voice dipped. "Somebody's gonna love you for real someday, Brit. I don't mean like those idiot football players you slept with or your loserific friend, Quinn, using you to get off and all. I mean a person who doesn't care about shit like that. And they're gonna love you for you, and make you feel like you belong somewhere, and you'll forget all of this lame high school bullshit. For real."

"Really?" I asked, pulling away from her.

I wanted it to be real. I wanted her to say "yes," even if she was only lying.

She gave me a sad smile, her fingers drawn to my lashes and dragging my tears away. "Yeah, really," she finally answered. "I promise."

Her fingers were so soft, a million times softer than Quinn's had ever been, even softer than Mucho Bucho when he was a baby. They were softer than anything. She touched my hair, pushing a piece of my bangs off of my forehead and tucking it behind my ear. She stared straight at me as if I were the only person in _her_ world too.

I wished, with all of my heart, that it was true.

"Come on," Santana said. "I'll take you home."


	38. Chapter 38

**Sorry, another short chapter leading up to bigger and better chapters ;) Thanks again for reviewing!**

**Chapter 38**

My mom met us at the front door, a worried expression crossing her face. "Brittany, Quinn just called here. She said you had to leave the party early. What's wrong?" She scratched at her honey hair and shook her head, suddenly realizing that Santana was standing beside me. "Oh, Santana! Did you go too?"

"Yeah," she said. She shoved her hands into her pockets and gave my mom a weak smile. "I got sick again. I was puking buckets. I swear there's something in the water here. I can't eat anything anymore unless it's imported from Europe."

"Really?" My mother's eyes widened. "That must be expensive for your parents." She waved her hand through the air. "Well, come in, come in. But be quiet, okay? Everyone else is asleep."

I looked across at Santana as she stepped onto the rug my mom had knitted at the community center last summer. She promptly bent down to remove her boots. I stuck my finger in my mouth and chewed at the cuticle, slipping off my own sneakers. Our four shoes made a crooked line on the rug. Black and black. White and white.

"Can she stay tonight?" I asked my mom.

My chest felt tight and funny, like a rusted Slinky, at the thought of Santana sleeping next to me again. But I didn't want her to be anywhere else. I heard her clear her throat. I heard the sound of the jeans on her thighs shifting in the silent living room.

"Of course," my mother said. "But you should call Quinn back and let her know you two are all right."

"Okay," I muttered.

"We will," Santana jumped in.

I turned my head to face hers, our eyes clashing together.

My mom stepped in the middle. She patted Santana's cheek with the palm of her hand. "If you feel bad, just let me know and I'll drive you to the hospital. Any time. Even if it's three in the morning and you have to wake me up. Okay?"

Santana bit her lip and nodded.

"Okay?" my mom repeated.

"Sure," Santana answered quietly, so quiet that it didn't even sound like her own voice.

My mom's hand slid off of Santana's cheek and down to rest on her shoulder. She squeezed the leather of her jacket. "I'm gonna go watch that Gypsy weddings show now."

I laughed. "That show's terrible."

"No, it's not!" my mom exclaimed. "It's amazing! I just love these kinds of anthropological studies." She rubbed at Santana's arm, then let herself slip away. "Goodnight, sweetie."

"Goodnight," Santana echoed, her eyes following my mom's slippers all the way over to the sofa. "Thank you."

My mom waved her hand through the air again. She picked up the remote and clicked the TV on. I tapped Santana's hanging palm with my fingers, her body swiveling around to swallow me in a distant smile.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

"How can you lie like that so easy?" I asked Santana.

She was sitting on my bed with her knees in the air, hugging them, as I swiped Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers on my lips. In the dim lamplight of my room I saw her watching me.

"What, about the food poisoning?" she replied. "That's not like a real lie."

"But don't you feel bad inside?" I twisted the cap back on my chapstick and set it next to my lamp. "Whenever I lie to my parents it's like my mouth gets set on fire."

Santana laughed. "Well, that must get in the way of things." She shrugged "I don't know. I guess I just don't care." She pressed her legs into her chest and rocked back and forth. "But you shouldn't lie to your mom. She's too perfect. That's like kicking a baby when it's only got one leg and can't kick you back."

"Nobody's perfect," I whispered.

But, to Santana, I knew that wasn't true. People only came in two colors, black or white.

"Take your jacket off," I told her. "I wanna show you something."

"What?"

I turned my back to her and went over to my closet. I heard the ZIP sound of her zipper coming down, the SCRUNCH sound of her jacket being pulled off of her shoulders and then the PLOP sound of it landing on my bed.

"You don't have like a mummified cat in there, do you?" Santana asked.

I opened the door and fumbled at a heavy cardboard box marked "Entertainment" in my dad's uneven scrawl.

"'Cuz that would be both disturbing yet highly interesting at the same time," Santana went on.

I got on my knees and dragged out the box. A cloud of gray dust that looked like Charity's dandruff floated up into the air. I coughed, quickly sliding a hand over the coat of dust and wiping it back into the corner of the closet. I stood up and kicked the box in Santana's direction.

She smirked. "What the hell's in there?" She pulled it into her calves.

The dust had made my nose all tingly and watery. I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched at my nostrils, sneezing into my bent palm.

"Bless you and your dirtyass house," Santana spoke with a giggle.

"I think it's just..." I grabbed at my nose, sneezing one more time. "I think it's just 'Bless you.'"

She gave me a tender smile, tearing at the cardboard box that was in front of my bed now.

"Seriously, what the hell is this crap?"

Her skinny, caramel fingers worked their way inside. She yanked the controllers out by their black wires. I couldn't almost see each button now, one red and one blue and one yellow and one green. "Street Fighter II" fell out onto the carpet.

"Yes!" I shouted, running over to grab it. I held it up while Santana made a face. "Super Nintendo," I said. "It's the most awesomest thing ever!"

"Yeah, in 1987."

I narrowed my eyes, flipping the game cartridge over in the palm of my hand. "No, it's from the nineties...I think."

"And I bet we're gonna play this on that analog TV you have over there," Santana remarked, nodding towards the 20-inch Goodwill find my mother had set in my bedroom years ago. "The excitement is killing me."

"It's fun!" I exclaimed. I pulled the controllers out of her hands, the Super Nintendo console from my father's box. I hugged everything to my chest and grinned at her. "It's really fun."

She met my eyes and rolled hers, a pregnant sigh escaping her mouth. "Okay, whatever," she said.

I knew she didn't mean it though. I knew she knew how fun it was, 'cuz her pupils got really big right then. I tugged at her shirt sleeve and she couldn't keep her lips from turning up at the corners and smiling at me.


	40. Chapter 40

**Sorry for the slight delay in updating. Sex scenes are REALLY difficult to write ;)**

**Chapter 40**

"Okay, you suck!" Santana exclaimed, slamming her controller down on the carpet. "Stop choosing Blanka! Honda should totally be kicking your ass anyway."

I laughed at her as she glared. Honda was hovering in the corner. I made Blanka walk over to him, pulling a rolling attack and some electric thunder. BOOM!

"Bye-bye," I whispered.

Honda was finished.

I looked over at Santana with a grin on my face. She wasn't smiling back. Her arms were folded across her chest and she was yawning into her shirt collar. My controller landed next to hers as I switched off the Super Nintendo. I twisted the knob on the TV and watched the screen eat itself away into darkness. It flickered for a moment, then made a fuzzy static noise like the hair on someone's head getting rubbed with a balloon.

"Are you tired?" I asked Santana.

"No," she answered, opening her mouth and yawning again. This time her jaw gaped so wide that she looked like a lion.

"Let's go to bed."

"Pajamas?" she asked, peering up at me.

My cheeks went red. "Just a minute, okay?"

"Okay." Her eyes fluttered shut, her body bent into a black tent on the carpet.

I hurriedly threw on some pink Dots pants, covered in a rainbow of the gummy candies, and a gray tank top. I folded my clothes into squares and set them on top of my dresser.

"Okay," I told Santana.

Her eyes remained closed, her head bobbing into her neck.

"Santana?" My bare feet padded over to her, one hand on her shoulder shaking her awake. She looked like a doll, the kind that had eyelids that moved, that came open and closed when you flipped them. "Santana?"

With my second touch, I could see her glittering chocolate almond eyes again. She swiped at her nose with a clumsy fist and coughed.

"That fucking dusty old Nintendo," she mumbled.

"Come on," I said, tugging at her arm and dragging her upright. I stared at her jeans and her ridiculous low-cut leopard-print blouse. "You should take these off," I suggested, pinching the side of her shirt.

She pulled herself away from me and spoke one word, "No," stumbling over to my bed and collapsing across it.

I sucked at the Lip Smackers on my lips and followed her. She moaned into my quilt, twisting herself into a crazy pretzel shape that I guessed she was trying to make feel comfortable. Her shirt rose up in the back. The bruises were still there. And there were new ones too, purple and yellow instead of brown.

I pressed two fingers to them, running a gentle line down her skin.

"How long has she been doing this?" I asked softly.

Santana threw her arm behind her, grabbing for my hand and knocking it away. She pulled her shirt back down to cover herself as she slipped under my quilt. Her head banged against the headboard. "Shit," she hissed, rubbing at her hair. She turned to face me. "I don't remember. Three years maybe. She caught my dad fucking this tit bag from Bowling Green and went totally loco. She couldn't take it out on him though 'cuz he pays all the bills." She smirked, shaking her head. "She's always been a bitch. Just now she's a drunk bitch who hits me. At least she knows to stay away from my smoking hot face. I'd kill her if she messed _this_ up." She patted both of her cheeks, laughing. "Of course my dad could always fix it."

"That's not funny," I said quietly.

"Yeah, it is," she countered. "'Cuz it has to be."

I didn't know what else to say. I hung my head and crawled in beside her, her foot digging into my calf and sending a spark from the top of my scalp down to the space between my legs.

She looked at me, one hand coming up to straighten the strap of my tank top. Her eyes met mine with a shy smile. "Sorry. It was falling. Don't you hate it that girls have to wear bras? The stupid shit always falls."

"But this is a tank top," I muttered.

"Right..."

I looked down at her hand. It was still resting on my shoulder. Her arm drifted down, fingers running along my collarbone. They pressed the surface of my skin so deeply I could feel her touch inside of me. Her eyes were all over me. On my nose and my lips and my lashes, my hair and my neck.

"You're beautiful," I said softly.

She gave a little giggle, her caramel cheeks turning only the faintest shade of pink. "Not like Quinn Fabray," she said.

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "But you're better, I think. 'Cuz you're pretty on the inside too."

She bit her lip and smiled into it, her brown eyes watering.

_You're so beautiful._

It was true. Right then, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Her eyes were as dark as the streets outside where she'd held me only a few hours ago. When she blinked I got caught in two tunnels. I let my gaze fall to her long line of a nose, her full lips that had been licked clean of lipstick.

I took her jaw in my palm. She closed her tunnel eyes and leaned into me. Her skin felt so hot. It must have been from all the lies she told.

"I want you to be happy," I whispered.

She sniffed and her chin moved in my hand. I pulled her into me, my mouth closing over hers. She bit at the corner of my lower lip. But it wasn't like the first time. She did it gently, over and over, one tiny kiss after another. The little spark between my legs spread out and started to tingle. She turned my head with a twist of her wrist. Her teeth hit my ear, biting it. My neck grew wet between her warm lips. She swallowed at the thin layers of skin near my ear until I moaned.

This wasn't gonna be how things went with Quinn. Not at all like how things went with a guy, the heavy fumbles and the squeezes and his dick sliding up inside of you like a razor.

This was gonna be different 'cuz it mattered.

I lodged my hip against Santana's and pushed her back along my bed. Her legs came open and I pressed my body in between them, her thighs gripping my sides and hugging me as if we were holding hands. She slid her palms up and over my arms. I let the electric feeling between my legs shoot up and hit my lips, crashing into Santana's mouth as she let out a whimper. She tugged at my shoulders, her short nails digging at my bare skin.

I slipped my hand under her shirt and undid her bra. I pushed my fingers up under the stiff underwire and cupped her breast. It was so soft, softer than the rest of her. Santana lifted her head off of my pillow, her cloud of black hair spilling against my arms and tickling me. She pressed her lips to mine, sliding her tongue into my mouth and pushing it hard against my own. I let my thumb circle her nipple until she groaned into my mouth.

All of the blood in my body rushed to my head. I was soaring. It felt like I was gonna burst. It felt like the heat of her underneath of me was gonna melt my skin. The sparks dancing over me buried themselves inside, my blood boiling down to the hollow between my legs. I almost exploded.

Santana's hand yanked at my tank top, her dark eyes meeting mine for just a moment. "Take it off," she breathed.

I looked down at the fabric covering my chest. It didn't matter anymore. It wouldn't be like it had been with everyone else, like they were looking straight through me, 'cuz Santana was looking _at_ me instead.

I paused for a moment then sat up, pulling my tank top over my head and dropping it on the floor. My breasts hung, naked and pale, in the air before us. She smiled, reaching a hand out to stroke my nipples with her fingertips. My lashes fluttered, my breath coming out all Peter Rabbit-jumpy.

And then, while my eyes were still closed, Santana grabbed at my hips and flipped me over, crawling on top of me. She unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them. Her boy legs dug into mine. They were muscular and bony and soft all at the same time. When she shifted on the bed, her toes dragged themselves along the sides of my calves, making me sigh just a little too hard.

"You've done this before, right?" she asked, laughing into my ear. Her hot words curled around my piercings.

"Yeah," I answered in a tiny voice, "but this time feels different."

I stared up at her beautiful face, flushed from kissing me, her lips a reddish-pink and curving into a smile. I held onto her arms. She wouldn't take her shirt off. She wouldn't let me see her with all of those bruises.

Her hand pressed tight to my stomach, she slithered it upwards, her knuckles curled in under my right breast. I sighed again as she brushed it with her fingertips. Her warm fingers moved so gently. She bent her head into my chest and let her tongue slide over my nipple. I felt my nails instinctively sink into the muscles at her back.

I moaned into her watermelon hair as she swallowed my nipple in her mouth, her tongue dancing around it in little circles.

My eyelids fluttered closed. My nails dug deeper as her hips rocked against my own. She slammed her palms down on top of my fists and undid them, curling her fingers between mine. I couldn't have moved if I wanted to. She pressed harder, burying my hands in the mattress.

We kissed as her loose breasts smashed themselves along my chest. Her bra was still undone and the wire struck me, the shimmering cloth of her shirt left floating.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a breathless voice, drawing her hands away from mine and letting me free.

I wasn't going anywhere. I gave her a sharp nod, licking my lips, sucking on the taste of her. "I wanted to make _you_ happy though."

"Another time," she muttered.

Her hand slid down between both of our bodies. The hairs on her arm stood up, itching my stomach. She edged my pajamas down to my thighs and I did the rest, raising my body up off of the bed along with hers.

Santana gave a little laugh, poking at my panties. "Saturday? You wear days of the week underwear and they match up with the days?"

I let my eyebrows sink into my eyes with a frown. "Sometimes I forget what day it is."

She laughed again, leaning in to kiss my cheek. I closed my eyes as her fingers dug at the elastic blue waistband of my underwear, bending my knees so that she could pull them off. They landed in a wad next to my balled-up pajama bottoms. I pressed my feet into the fabric and thought of Lord Tubbington and Charity, sleeping there at the base of my bed.

Santana's hand found its way to my inner thigh. I felt her heart pounding over my own. I swallowed my breath in shallow chunks. She felt so beautiful and so lovely and so soft. It wasn't gonna hurt the way it did with guys. And it wasn't gonna make me feel alone either, like the way it had with Quinn.

Santana moved her fingers over the patch of blond curls I kept trimmed, a huge roll of thunder mounting in my stomach. She slid two fingers inside of me. The sudden, sharp pressure of them made me gasp.

"You okay?" she asked, worry lines etched across her face. "Did I hurt you?"

"Okay," I whispered.

She stayed inside of me. It didn't hurt. It felt amazing. She bent her fingers upwards, thrusting in and out. I moaned into my quilt, leaving behind a square of spit.

"Your mom might hear," Santana said. She pressed her left hand between my teeth. I bit down on the salty edge of her palm.

She pumped her fingers between my legs, digging her hips into her wrist to force herself deeper. She was dragging her fingertips across that tiny bumpy spot inside of me. I felt like I had to pee. I felt like there were stars inside of my head, getting bigger and bigger and bigger.

I grabbed at Santana's wrist between my legs and clutched it as hard as I could. She moved across my belly in short, quick strokes. I pushed her hand in deeper, until I couldn't feel anything but her, until I was totally filled up with her.

My breathing grew more rapid. My legs buckled beneath hers. I closed my thighs around her fingers, her hand still moving inside of me.

I let out a loud moan, my mouth laying spit on her hand and my teeth biting at her skin. She pulled out of me and rolled over. Her shoulders lined up with mine, her shirt along my bare side. I scrunched up my eyes. My chest rose and fell with each heavy breath.

I couldn't see her. I could only feel her, her hand across my forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat. Her kiss on my eyebrow. The bridge of my nose. My cheek. My chin.

I smiled.

"Worked for both of us," she whispered. "See? When you're happy, you smile. And, when you smile, it makes me feel happy."

She gave me one more kiss, on the mouth, and I drowned in her sweat-laced perfume. She pulled the quilt up and slid in next to me.


	41. Chapter 41

**Wow, thanks to all the new reviewers! That's awesome! And, of course, everyone else who has put up with me for 40 fucking chapters now. LOL. Glad you liked the sex scene and, yes, there will be one more later on.**

**Anyway, sorry :( Back to some short chapters again.**

**Chapter 41**

The morning sun through my curtains woke me up. And her, at my window, back in her black leather jacket and plodding across the floor.

"Hey," I said. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah, I've gotta go. I'll see ya at school on Monday."

I sat up with a rush. I was naked. My breasts froze in the air, my nipples standing on end. I looked down at my chest and breathed her in.

I could still smell her all over me, and that scared me more than the gnomes in the basement and more than my father's screams, even more than that burning look in Quinn's eyes when she was angry. It scared me 'cuz I knew that, after I got up and took a shower, Santana's smell would disappear down the drain forever. I wouldn't be able to carry her around on me anymore.

"Your boots are downstairs," I spoke quietly. My tank top lay in a wrinkled wad on the floor. I bent over the bed, grabbed it and pulled it over my head. "Just stay for breakfast."

Under the quilt my bare legs rubbed alongside one another, my Saturday underwear curling inside of my toes. I hurriedly wriggled into them. The elastic snapped at my waist. It wasn't Saturday anymore.

_It happened. It really happened._

"Your parents are probably up," she muttered, dancing in her bare feet by the window. "I don't wanna go down there."

She turned around to smile at me. Her skin seemed so pale in the sunlight, the makeup on her lids smeared away so that her eyes looked even bigger and darker. Her hair was a mess. Her long bangs hung in her lashes, the tiny curls at her hairline smashed down into wavy lines.

"You got another pair of sneakers I can borrow?"

"They'll be big on you," I replied. "I'm like a size ten," I continued.

She shrugged. "I'll tie them tight. It'll be an adventure," she said, giving me a giggle. "Maybe I'll break something and have to go to the hospital. That could be fucking exciting."

I climbed out of bed and walked over to her, placing one palm on her leather arm. "Did your mom call?" I asked.

"No," she replied, turning back to the window. She dug her fingers into the sill. "I've just gotta go." The windowpane came up, a rush of crisp autumn air striking both of our faces. "Throw them down for me when I get there."

"Huh?"

"The shoes." She took my hand in hers and pulled it into her boobs. "See ya," she whispered, kissing my knuckles.

It was another piece of her I could keep for only a moment.

"Bye."

I wrapped my arms across my chest to stop myself from reaching for her. And, when her skinny boy body hit the ground, I walked over to my closet and yanked out two old Cheerios regulation sneakers. I tossed them into the bushes as Santana threw her hand up in a wave.

"Bye-bye," I whispered to myself.

I watched her through the window, my white sneakers clomping away through the neighbor's yard, and all I could see were Quinn's feet in the locker room. I sat down on my bed and pulled the collar of my tank top into my nose. The subway train smashed over my ribs. My tears turned the gray cotton black.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

She was already sitting at her desk on Monday morning when I came into English class. Her head was down but her book was open.

"You're late, Brittany," Mrs. Templeton said, shooting me a look of disappointment and nodding towards the clock.

"Yeah," I breathed. I reached into my pocket, staring out at Santana, as I shoved the late slip into Mrs. Templeton's palm. "Sorry."

"One more time and you get detention."

"I know."

I walked down the empty line between everyone else's desks, squeezing at the strap of my book bag. Santana peered up at me. She didn't say anything.

"Hey," I whispered to her.

She licked her lips as I slid into my seat. That's when I saw it, that familiar orange juice bottle with its too-shiny label, resting in her lap. Her eyes darted around the classroom as she brought it to her lips. She took one long chug then pressed it back into the waiting spot between her thighs.

Mrs. Templeton wasn't watching, but I was. I put out my hand and touched her knee. "Santana..."

She turned her head. Her face had been scrubbed clean again. She was a kid again.

"Santana, what's going on?" I asked softly. "Why won't you talk to me?"

There was nothing but silence, another drag from her bottle. A drop of pale alcohol clung to her lip. I had the sudden urge to reach out and wipe it away, to take it into my skin and have another piece of her. Even if it was one of the bad pieces.

I looked down at my desk. "Rachel Berry has a dick." My stomach felt all whooshy and empty, like a pumpkin at Halloween that had just had all its seeds scraped out. I swallowed at my swollen throat and raised my hand.

"Yes, Brittany?" Mrs. Templeton asked.

I had a little bit of voice left, a little before it would all be sliced away.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" I choked out.

She waved her hand with a sigh and I leaped out of my seat, running down the hall, away from Santana and away from everything.


	43. Chapter 43

**Thanks again for more lovely reviews. The long ones are really really nice and I feel touched! Thank you :)**

**Chapter 43**

I sat on the toilet seat inside of the stall and cried.

I couldn't stop. All of the tears coursed down my cheeks, burning my skin. Each time I smeared them away, more would come in their place. I clutched my fingers against my thighs, twisting them up into those cinnamon cookies from the coffeehouse.

My legs felt so cold in their tights. I wished that Lord Tubbington and Charity would wander in and sit down on them and make me feel safe. I curled my calves around the porcelain base of the toilet. It wasn't a good hug. It only made me colder. There was nowhere that felt good. I crawled off of the toilet seat and slid into the corner of the stall, balling myself on the floor against the thick metal.

At the slat of open door I saw a pair of black heels. The tip of one came out, kicking like a dying fish. I jumped up, even though she was nowhere near close to hitting me.

"Brit, let me in," Santana ordered, her rough voice scratching my ear. "I know you're in there."

I pressed my stomach into the door and took a breath. My shirt rose up, the cold metal icing my skin. There was only an inch between us. There could have been nothing. All I had to do was open the door. I took another breath, a step backwards, and quickly twisted the latch around in a circle.

Her body came tumbling forward, her chipped-black nails on the edge of the door. She yanked it shut and locked us back in. "Brittany..." she started. Her hand came up to touch my wet cheek.

I knocked her away with a fist. "I don't need you to do that," I hissed at her.

"Shit," Santana said under her breath. I peered at her from my corner as she crossed me and fell onto the toilet seat. She dragged a hand across her forehead. "Shit, Brittany," she repeated.

I kicked her heel with the toe of my sneaker. "I still have your boots, you know."

"I know."

"They're in my room now. I lined them up in front of my closet. They're sitting there waiting for you and they look so funny. They look like they should have legs in them."

She gave me a laugh, her hair falling in her face so that I couldn't see her eyes anymore. I let my gaze slip down her shoulders, her arms, her careful fingers rubbing lines across her thighs, the muscles of her bare calves. She had a tight, green dress on today. A tight, green dress and heels. She made a perfect straight girl.

"How do you walk in heels?" I asked her.

"What?" she asked, her head popping up to feed me a confused look.

"Nothing," I muttered.

I kept my eyes on her ankles, wondering if they ever went wobbly with only two skinny lines of plastic beneath them.

"Brittany," Santana said. "I'm sorry."

She stood up and came in beside me, hovering a few inches away. I watched as she reached up for just a moment, like she wanted to touch me, her fingers frozen in the air as she opened her mouth. She let her arm fall. Her bloodshot eyes gazed forward in silence.

"Why won't you talk to me?" I asked her.

"I suck at talking." She put one finger in her mouth, the same way I did, chewing at the nail.

"You could try." I put my hand on her knuckles. There was still a crisscross of scratches across them. The scabs felt rough beneath my fingertips. "What's wrong? Just tell me."

She stared at me with her red eyes. They looked so heavy, like if she blinked just once her lids wouldn't be able to contain them anymore. "I can't do this, Brit," she whispered, bowing her head.

"Do what?" I asked.

"I can't..."

"Just let me help you," I said, taking her hand in mine. "'I wanna help you. Like that Stevie Nicks song. I can walk in your shadow or something."

"No," she said sharply, jerking her body away from mine. She fell against the door and laughed. "See, it _is_ fate. I'm a fucking asshole, just like her."

"What?"

"I made you hate me."

"I don't hate you, Santana." I grazed her side with my leg. It felt so nice. It felt so nice to have her next to me again.

She cleared her throat and twisted the lock in front of her. "Well, anyways, one of us better get back to class before Bong Hit Templeton thinks we stole her stash and are smoking up in here."

"Santana..."

She threw the door open and left me by myself.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

I didn't see her at lunchtime. I snuck away from the rest of the Glee Club, back outside and onto the grass beneath my flaming tree. All of the leaves had finally changed over for good. Red and orange. It was colder now. I put my headphones on my ears and hugged myself, rubbing my arms with my fingers, dipping them into the soft fleece that felt like Lord Tubbington's fat stomach.

My backpack was next to my thigh, another peanut butter sandwich inside. The thought of eating it made my throat go itchy. I swallowed, sliding one hand over the loop at the top of my backpack. My bag looked so heavy. Why did it look so heavy?

"I can't pick you up," I whispered to it.

There was something at my calf then, someone kicking my calf. I flinched, slamming my ass into a hard root swelling up out of the ground. My fingers scraped at my headphones, yanking them off my ears. They fell into my lap, the STOP button clicking, my dad's Ramones tape spinning to an end.

"Hey," the voice connected to the foot said. It was Quinn. "Can I sit with you?"

She smiled at me, a bottle of water clutched in her hands. I watched it slosh back and forth. There were little bits of food at the bottom but, knowing Quinn, they were probably only from a vanilla Powerbar.

I didn't answer her so she sat down anyway. It wasn't next to me. It wasn't like how Santana would have sat, with her thigh pressed up along mine until her warmth shot out through my legs too.

"You didn't call me back on Saturday," Quinn said. She frowned, scratching the blue cap on her bottle with one fingernail. "I left a message with your mom."

"I know," I uttered. "But I was okay."

"And Santana?" she asked in a low voice.

"Huh?"

Quinn sighed, twisting the cap off of the bottle, then twisting it right back on again. "She was okay too?"

_"She was okay too?"_

I gave Quinn a nod, my mouth gone numb at the sound of Santana's name. She'd called her by her real name. It was like I could see it in the air, floating beside Quinn's hair, the S-A-N-T-A-N-A. Like how they threw letters up onto your screen during "Sesame Street" and, if you stared straight at them, they got stuck inside your head.

"Do you like her?" Quinn asked softly. She put her head down, avoiding my eyes.

_"Do you like her?"_

"Yeah," I breathed.

I meant to say that "like" didn't mean anything. I meant to say that "like" was a really stupid word. I liked cats and pasta and my headphones and my bedroom. But I didn't "like" Santana. There was no word for my feelings for Santana. There was nothing that I could put into a sentence to explain it to Quinn, or anyone.

Quinn gave me another sigh. "So she's your best friend now? She's a total delinquent, you know. Dave had to..."

I cut her off before she could finish. "She's not like that. Whatever you _think _she is, she isn't. You don't know her at all."

"I love you," Quinn said suddenly. She dropped her water bottle in the grass and touched my hand for just a moment, quickly drawing her fingers away. "I don't wanna lose you, Brittany," she begged. "I don't have anyone else."

I squeezed my eyes shut on Quinn's face and Santana's black name.

"I've gotta go," I told her. I grabbed at the loop on my backpack, thrusting it up into the air. It was full of books that felt like bricks. "Bye, Quinn."

She looked up at me, blinking her gorgeous hazel eyes and giving me a look of quiet desperation.

"Bye-bye," I repeated.

She didn't realize that I meant for forever.


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

It felt so much worse the second time around, another week without her. She didn't come back to school. Maybe this was it for good. She couldn't keep it up, missing so many classes. Being late was one thing, but not showing up at all? Teachers really didn't like that 'cuz then they had no one to teach.

I couldn't call her. I'd tried, staring at her number with her name scratched beside it in red Hello! Kitty ink, that wobbly heart stuck inside of Lopez. I sat on my bed, my legs splashing down to the floor. I sat there for hours, until Santana's paper grew wet and soggy in my fist. I sat there, thinking of what I could say to her, of how I could rescue her like Robin instead of Batman. But nothing ever came out of my mouth. I couldn't make the words come out.

And now it was Thursday. Three days since Monday. Three days since I'd seen her. I'd counted them off on my underwear, the snap of each elastic band cutting me in half.

I almost fell asleep in English, sprawled across the desk, doodling the same spirals in my notebook that she had. Through the window the trees shook with an autumn breeze. I pulled my sweater in around myself, absentmindedly sniffing at its sleeves. They might have smelled like her. She could have still been hanging around.

She wasn't.

One eye, then two. A nose. A mouth. What I drew wasn't human. It looked like a cross between a frog and a monster.

"Brittany?"

My head sprang up.

"Brittany, can you read the second paragraph, please?" Mrs. Templeton asked, rubbing her nose with her index finger. She gave me a sullen face.

"Yeah, okay," I mumbled, digging through my bag.

I found a crumpled, silver gum wrapper inside, my headphones with their wires twisted up like poorly-cooked spaghetti and the latest edition of the McKinley High Muckraker. But there was no Scarlet Letter.

Nothing. Nothing. It wasn't in there.

"Where's your book?" Mrs. Templeton asked.

I looked at her. I had no excuse. "I don't know," I said with a shrug.

Everyone was staring at me, smirking. I heard their sharp voices, whispering: _"Fucking Looney Tune. She has Alzheimer's. She doesn't know where her book is. Look at her getting all freaked out now."_

"Brittany?" Mrs. Templeton asked once more.

"Sorry, I don't have it," I said quietly.

She uttered an audible sigh. "Well, can you share with Rita, please?" She nodded towards the girl on my other side, the side that wasn't Santana's.

Rita Freeman had red hair and green eyes and a dirty look on her face. She rolled her eyes so far up into her head that I wondered if they really could get stuck up there. I gave her a tiny smile, pulling my desk in beside hers. She slammed her copy of The Scarlet Letter down between the crooked cavern that both of our desks made, its paper binding drooping.

I pressed my hand to the open page. "Thanks," I replied. "Thank you." To no one.


	46. Chapter 46

**This is the last chapter until Sunday. I know these ones were short again! Sorry!**

**Chapter 46**

She called that night.

"Hey, Brit." Her voice came in through my cat phone as if it were from another planet. My planet, maybe.

"Santana," I breathed. My heart beat up into my throat. I slammed a hand across my chest to keep it in place.

"Yeah, it's me," she answered. "What's up?"

"Where have you been?"

"Around."

"Around where? Why haven't you come back to...?"

"Look, I don't have long to talk," she interrupted. "Is your mom at home?"

"Yeah, she's off tonight. Why?"

"I kind of need her," she replied. "And you," she tacked on, her words narrowing into a sound that was as thin as a needle. "Please."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I'm in jail," she said quickly. "I'm in the fucking slammer."

"What?" I exclaimed, my voice coming out of somewhere so deep inside of me that it felt like a hurricane. My phone fell on the carpet. I grabbed for it. I smashed it into my ear, curling the cord around my fist to hold it beside me. "Santana?"

"Yeah, I know. I know it's ridiculous. This is totally like a bad episode of '90210' or something and you're probably like looking at my boots right now and playing cornyass eighties music in the background," she rambled. "If some TV director was there with you, they'd be making a _hilariously_ lame montage out of this." She took a breath that I could hear. "Please come. Please. I know your mom won't judge me or whatever and it's not like I can call _mine_." She gave me a nervous laugh. "They caught me drinking," she hissed.

"What?

"The cops. They caught me drinking." Her words suddenly became muffled. "It's no big deal though. I can get out of the community service. I'm hot as hell and my parents are loaded. I just need an adult to pick me up."

In the background I heard a rumbling, a man's voice yelling something and the clanking noise of iron against iron.

"Shit, my time's up, Brittany. Please come, okay? Please. You have to. I don't have anyone else."

_"I don't have anyone else."_

They were Quinn's words. They were Quinn's words left hanging in the air, inside of my phone, burrowing into my right ear.

I clutched the phone in my hand, staring at Santana's boots still in a perfect black line in front of my closet. And then I ran downstairs, yelling, "Mom! Mom! Mom!"


	47. Chapter 47

**More angst! I promise this story has a happy ending, but I'm more invested in realism than sweeping accolades of love. Please continue to review, if you can! :)**

**Chapter 47**

I sunk my ass into one of the benches at the front of the room, watching them, her and my mom and the cop.

She was a mess, but she looked totally beautiful. She was still so beautiful. It made my insides ache to know how close I'd been to her only a few days ago, that I had heard her heart beating right over mine, that it was like I had two hearts. I stared across the room at her dark eyes, my gaze trailing down to her chest and her stomach and her thighs. I took a tiny breath and shoved my stares into my sneakers.

"This is not standard procedure," the cop said to Santana. "Didn't I say a parent or guardian? Your friend's mother is neither of those."

"But, sir, her parents are out of the country," my mom pleaded.

That's what Santana had told them, another one of her lies. Or maybe it was true. Who knew anymore.

"Kids make mistakes," my mom continued. "You can't keep her in jail for a week."

"Oh, I assure you we can," the cop continued. "She's under eighteen. We could keep her here up to thirty days if we wanted to ."

I looked up at the trio of them. Santana was clutching her hands in front of her, her cheeks pink from whatever she'd been drinking, her mouth drawn in a quiet straight line.

The cop stood there like Dave Karofsky at his house party. He was a rock. He was a statue. His shoulders were full of knotted muscles that looked like little tree roots. His skin was like peanut butter, smooth and brown and lined. He was old. He was my mom's age. He was tired of dealing with kids like Santana.

My mother nodded at him. Her face seemed so calm and peaceful. It was the same face she always had. I thought she'd probably rather have been at home watching that episode of "I Survived" that she'd Tivoed, but it was okay being at the police station too. That's what her face said. There was nothing wrong at all with being in the Allen County jail on a Thursday night at 7:30.

"Well, since this is your first warning," the cop spoke, giving Santana a stern look, "I suppose I can let you go. You don't look like you do this sort of thing every day."

"Thank you," my mom said. She tapped Santana on the arm. "Say thank you," she ordered.

"Thank you," Santana spit out, as if it hurt to have the words touch her lips.

And then it was over. That was it. They were coming my way.

Santana stepped in front of me, the toe of her black heel scraping my sneaker. I could smell her familiar smell. It twisted all around me like a snake. "Hey, Brit" she said quietly, giving me half of a smile. "Thanks for saving me."

_"Thanks for saving me, thanks for saving me, thanks for saving me..."_

My eyes fell on her painted-black nails. Up close she looked like a ghost, like that time in the bathroom when she'd been crying, like she was my dream come to life. I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. She was real. I could feel her. I could feel her nails digging into my palm, saying something she couldn't say with words.

My mom slid up beside us. "You okay, sweetie?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I dropped Santana's hand and watched as she pulled it into her pocket. She bent into the arm of the bench and sighed. I stroked my turtle necklace and turned back to my mother.

"Come on," she said, patting Santana's shoulder. I stood up and followed them as we walked to the door. "Everyone makes mistakes when they're young," my mom whispered to Santana. "Me and Brittany's dad got arrested once, in college. We were making pot brownies and set the oven too high. The fire alarm went off." She chuckled to herself, placing her fingers in front of her lips. Santana gave her a crooked smile and my mom quickly swallowed her laughter away. "But that was _definitely_ not a good experience for us. It wasn't funny at all. So please learn from this one. Okay, Santana? Don't do it again." Her fingers fell in her black hair, gently smoothing each strand.

I stared at my mother's hand, wishing that I was the one standing next to Santana, that I was the one with my fingers in her watermelon hair. Santana gazed up at my mother and nodded.

The two of them walked towards the car. I stayed behind like I was their shadows. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk, counting every crack. There was a tiny bit of grass in one, shooting up from the concrete and trying to find the sun. It would never grow that high.

The cars doors closed. Santana crawled into me in the backseat. She pressed her hand to my wrist, her lips too close and touching my ear. "Seriously, thank you, Brittany. You're awesome," she whispered.

Her breath was hot. It smelled like rum. It slipped across my skin and, suddenly, I could taste her inside of me.

"Are you going home now?" I asked.

She stared at me, her almond eyes clouding over. "Yeah, I have to."

"You don't have to."

My mother cut in from behind the wheel. "Santana, it's 541, right? Or is it 145?" She scratched her nose, her voice dropping. "I always get numbers confused. They sound different from how they look."

"Yeah," Santana answered. "541."

I shoved my hand into the seat and looked out the window at her house. It had been dark like this before, the first time I'd been here, carrying her drunken arms under my own and up to her bedroom.

Santana put her hand on the car door. Her fingers curled over the handle. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Pierce. I really appreciate it. I'm sorry for being such a fuckup. I'm not a good kid like Brittany," she added, her face falling.

"Oh, sweetie, everyone makes mistakes," she repeated. "You're not a bad person for that." My mom twisted around to face her, a smile crossing her cheeks. "You take care, all right?"

"Mmm hmm," Santana murmured.

I watched her glide through the space between car and concrete. She gazed back at me, saying nothing. The door slammed shut and she walked away.

"Do you wanna get some Baskin Robbins?" my mom looked up into the rearview to ask me.

Baskin Robbins. Like we were just coming back from the mall or something.

"Okay," I breathed.

As my mom drove away, I looked over my shoulder, bending as far as I could to catch every piece of Santana before she vanished again. She hovered beneath the streetlights then walked into the corner of her house. She stood there for a moment with her head down, digging her heel into the dirt. Her fist came out, striking the brick of her house. 1, 2, 3. Three punches. And it felt like she was punching _me_ instead of her house. I curled my arms across my chest and didn't bother to wipe at the tears in my eyes.

I was glad my mom always kept hers on the road when she was driving.


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48**

I sat at my desk on Sunday night doing crappy math homework. I was only in Algebra II 'cuz my brain still couldn't figure out how to turn things that weren't numbers into numbers. I stared at my textbook until everything swirled into a black and white cloud in front of my face.

How could she just come in and out like that, like Alice through the rabbit hole, one day here and gone the next? What world did she live in, really? It was like she was an alien too. Maybe she was just like me, but on the other side of the mirror. Maybe she was the reverse/same version of me over there.

I clutched my turtle necklace in my fist and ran my thumb down one of its little feet. "You didn't work," I whispered. "Be lucky for her."

She looked okay. She seemed okay. The way she moved, the way she stood beside me, the way she touched my hand and thanked me when she never thanked anyone.

_She looked okay._

She wasn't okay. She'd never be okay.

I chewed on my pencil, flakes of yellow gathering on my lower lip as the taste of metal filled my mouth.

"Brit?" A voice drifted in. My mom was outside, gently rapping. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," I answered, stabbing the pencil into my lap. "Shoot," I hissed. It left a gray mark on my bare thigh. I licked my index finger and smeared at my shorts, rubbing the little gray circle into something even bigger.

The door came open and my mom lodged herself against the doorframe. Her fluffy hair was pulled into a ponytail. She tugged at it and offered me a gentle smile. "Want me to close it?" she asked, placing one palm on the doorknob.

"Yeah."

BANG. We were locked in. BANG. My bedroom suddenly felt like a closet, like a too-small closet I couldn't get out of. I stared at my mom in silence.

She took a few steps forward. Sitting on the floor below me, she grasped my feet in her hands and rubbed them. "Your friend has a lot of problems, huh?"

I pressed my lips together and nodded.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I've known lots of girls like her before."

"When you were my age?" I asked.

"Uh huh."

I stared down at her fingers on my feet, her red knuckles swollen from too much work. Her hands were covered with skinny lines that looked like God had been scratching them into her forever and would never stop.

"They were your friends?" I asked.

"Some of them."

Her fingers on my toes felt so good, so warm, like she was massaging my insides instead. I closed my eyes. Santana's face popped in, my chest growing hot and Peter Rabbit-jumpy again. I thought about how Santana had touched me with her fingers too and I had to pull away, dragging my legs up under me on the chair.

"What did you do?" I asked my mom. "To help them?"

"Well...you can't really do _anything_," she said, a sadness skimming her cheeks. "They have to want to help themselves. All you can do is be there when they decide that they're ready."

All of the heat inside me exploded. I bent into my mom's shoulder and sobbed. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, sweetie," she said softly. "For what?"

"I love you."

"I know."

"But I never say it."

"That's okay," she said, stroking my arms. "You don't have to say it. I know you, Brit. I know how you feel about things."

I pressed my face into my mom's hair. I pulled her into me as tightly as I could, 'cuz tight hugs were the only kinds of hugs that made me feel safe. She squeezed back. Suddenly my bedroom felt as big as Heaven. And my mom, an angel, flew over me and wiped all of the sadness away with her wings.


	49. Chapter 49

**Brittana is back now! :)**

**Chapter 49**

I got off the bus in front of McKinley on Monday morning, my backpack of bricks leaving my shoulders in a slouch. I was late again. I was definitely gonna get detention this time. I looked up at the rows of windows in front of me and took a breath. It would have been better to just turn around and run away, to go to the library or something and read all of the Harry Potter books back to back.

"You have to go," I breathed into my fuzzy rainbow coat.

My pants blew in the wind, slapping the backs of my knees. It was cold now. Winter was almost here. I twisted the sash that had come with my coat around my waist. It left behind a stabbing feeling, like if I pulled too tight I could cut myself in half.

Something blurred in front of me. At first I thought it was just the trees, their bright red and orange leaves shining. I was tired and yawning and the basement gnomes had left their crusty dust in my eyes. I rubbed at them with my fists.

The colorful colors turned into black. Black heels and a black leather jacket and a black book bag. "Hi," Santana said, jumping off of the wall. An anxious look flooded her face, her chocolate eyes waiting.

"Hey," I answered. I stared down at her. Her ghost body came together, a whole bunch of pieces sparkling then colliding together. She was a person again. She wasn't just a shadow or a dream. "You're back," I spoke softly.

"Yeah, I guess so. For now."

"I'm late," I told her.

"Yeah, I know. I can read a clock," she said, laughing.

"We have to hurry up." I let my eyes fall onto my sneakers, rushing past her. "We'll get in trouble."

Santana grabbed me by the arm. My body jerked forward then back again, crashing into her side. She caught me with both hands and pulled me into her waist. I could feel her breath at my cheek. She smelled normal again. No rum. No fake orange juice.

She gave me a tender smile, her fingers lingering at my wrists. I stared at the square of scratches on her knuckles that matched the brick of her house. We stared at each other. It was the kind of stare that I'd been seeing in movies all my life, in those old black and white movies that my parents liked, in the kinds of movies where everything was so intense that orchestra music played whenever the man and woman's eyes met.

I opened my mouth to say something, but suddenly nothing would come out. I needed my peanut butter eye back to soften things.

Santana let me go, her cheeks turning that vague shade of pink that was blushing for her. She swept a hand through her hair and tossed it over her shoulder. "Look, Brittany, you are _totally_ not going to school today. And neither am I. We're cutting."

"Huh?" I asked.

"I was waiting for you," she said.

"I can't cut," I argued. "I'm gonna get detention."

"Right," she spoke with a sigh. "See, you're fucked anyways, so why don't you just come with me? We can go to McDonald's or something and make fun of all of the fat losers who think McGriddles are a substantial breakfast food." She bent into the wall, scraping at the rock with her fingernails. "I bet when my dad does lipo on them, syrup comes out. Like actual buckets of syrup."

"What are you talking about?"

She waved a hand through the air. "Never mind. I had a raging case of insomnia last night. I think I might be hallucinating right now," she rambled. "So...how are you?"

The way she spoke was like an entire chunk of life had just been cut free, like a swath of time had been sliced and sewn back together however she wanted it.

_Another week._

It didn't work. It was jagged. The stitches were tearing fast.

"So, you're back now? Just like that?" I asked, my voice a little too angry. "Back in school?"

"No. I don't know," she answered, shrugging. "Maybe." Her head fell, her fingers returned to scratching at the wall. "I just wanted to see you."

"Oh," I breathed. I swung a hand over my shoulder, gripping the strap of my book bag and holding on tight.

"And I needs my boots back. It's fucking cold and my feet are way too sexy to be getting all ashy." She peered up at me, her fake lashes blinking, a smirk crossing her lips.

I looked across at the school and stuck my index finger in my mouth, chewing.

Santana swatted at my hand. "Didn't I tell you to quit with that?" She gave me another smirk. "Girls don't like it either, you know."

My hand fell at my side and then her eyes were all over me again. My chest went tight, like the rusted Slinky, and I heard some kind of music playing somewhere that wouldn't stop. Santana sucked her lower lip into her mouth. I had to turn away. I had to look somewhere else, my gaze caught in the flame trees.

"Where do you wanna go?" I asked her.


	50. Chapter 50

**Thanks again for the continued reviews! I'm supertired right now, so just another short chapter. Big stuff will come in a bit.**

**Chapter 50**

We walked off near the park and Santana rang McKinley from her iPhone, pretending to be her mother, calling the both of us out sick.

"Yes, hello, this is Vivian Lopez. My daughter, Santana, and her best friend Brittany Pierce seem to have caught the flu," she spoke in an even lower and rougher voice than usual. "Yes, yes, that's right..." she continued. "No, Brittany spent the weekend with us. I suppose they must have shared a cup or something." She turned her head and made a face at me.

I gave Santana a tiny smile, my hand in front of my mouth to hide it.

"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry I didn't call earlier. Our cat ran out into the street shortly after breakfast and I had to run after him. Oh, no, he's fine! Yes. Yes. Well, that's why this phone call is late. I just now came back into the house to find my daughter and her friend puking rainbows in the master bathroom. Yes, I will. Yes, thank you again. Oh, I'll be sure to keep an eye on them. Oh, thank you! You too! Take care now."

Santana hung up, raising one eyebrow at me and jiggling the iPhone at her cheek. "I'm so freaking charming," she said.

"Figgins bought it?" I asked her.

"Of course! I'm firmly convinced he can't even really speak English. I mean, have you heard him over the intercom? What _is_ that? If you talk fast enough," she said, snapping her fingers, "you can get anything by him."

"That's mean. He came all the way here from India."

Santana scoffed at me, unzipping her backpack to slide her iPhone back into the front pocket. "Yeah, so did all the other Indians. So what?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, rocking back and forth in the dirt. Santana walked over to me with a sigh. She placed one palm on my shoulder, curving her fingers up towards my neck, massaging my skin so deeply that I was forced to let out a moan.

"Sorry," she said, pressing her body into my back and whispering in my ear. "I'm totally trying to not be such a bitch. It just doesn't really work."

"I don't think you're a bitch anymore," I whispered back to her.

"Wow, thanks," she replied, pulling away from me. "That's one of the biggest compliments I've ever received in my whole life." She laughed. "You should be writing Hallmark cards."

"Was _that_ supposed to be a compliment too?"

Her dark eyes narrowed. She nodded towards our slide. "Come on. Sit down and talk to me for a minute."


	51. Chapter 51

**Sorry, I'm teasing you again. I don't have time to write a long chapter right now :(**

**Chapter 51**

"Thanks for bailing me out of the slammer the other day," Santana said.

We'd somehow managed to squeeze ourselves onto the bottom of the slide. It was a tight fit. Her thighs were lodged along mine. We were so close that it hurt.

"I didn't do anything," I muttered, staring down at Santana's skinny boy legs in her skinny jeans. There was a white patch at her knee where the fabric was coming undone. I wanted to reach out so bad and touch it. I wanted to know what her skin felt like through that, underneath. "You should thank my mom, not me." I pulled my hands into my lap.

"No, I mean..." she stammered. "You were there. You saved me." She gave me a nervous smile as the wind hit her hair and blew it into a spool of black cotton candy.

"Like Batman?" I asked.

"Totally." Her smile grew bigger, her pink balloon cheeks full of air. She dug her heels into the grass.

"Did your parents find out?"

"What?" She put a hand to her head, combing her hair with her fingers.

"That you got arrested."

Her face froze, her eyes paused on the glowing morning sun in front of us. "You wanna know how I wound up in jail?"

I nodded. She didn't say anything, and then I realized she was still staring straight ahead and not at me. "Yeah," I breathed.

"I finished my song," she said. "Remember? The one I sang for you here before?"

"Yeah, I remember."

_Purple bruises, not about a friend, not about a friend..._

"Yeah, so, there was this totally rare moment on Thursday where my mom was like mostly sober for once and being nice to me. She didn't even notice that I was cutting school. She just wanted to sit and watch TV with me. She made me lunch and everything," Santana explained. She bit her lip, swiveling her head to look at me. Her eyes were red and watery and tired. "Anyway, things were going pretty good until she broke out the vodka. But I already had my mind made up, that I was gonna sing my song to her."

"You sang it?"

"Yeah," she said, in a voice so quiet it might as well have been a whisper. "And she listened. She actually fucking listened. Well," she said, laughing loudly, "that is until she figured out what I was saying and she threw her vodka glass at me. Lucky I'm quick. I ran into the kitchen before my smoking hot face could get slashed."

"Why are you laughing at that?" I asked, my heart thudding inside of my chest.

She smirked, her wide mouth shaking just a little. "'Cuz I have to," she spit out.

Her body was so close to me. Her beautiful, beautiful eyes and her skinny nose and her perfect lips. I put a hand on her cheek, running my fingers down the length of it.

"What the hell are you doing, Brittany?" she asked. She didn't bother to knock my hand away. Her shoulders slouched in defeat.

"Why don't you tell someone?" I whispered. "Tell my mom."

She closed her eyes, her fake lashes curling against her skin. "I'm telling you," she said. "And I'm taking you with me." She jumped up from the slide, my leg drawn away from hers and crashing into a metal edge.

"Taking me where?" I asked, gazing up at her.

She bent into my knees and lifted my hand out of my lap, her fingers grazing the space between my legs and making stars shoot up into my head. "Somewhere we can be alone," Santana said.

And she tore me off of the sliding board like I was a Band-Aid she didn't want covering her anymore.


	52. Chapter 52

**Thank you to the new people reviewing! I'm glad you're reading! :) This chapter's a bit heavy. Sorry!**

**Chapter 52**

From the doorway I saw us in the bed, white cotton sheets wrinkled around our bodies instead of a quilt, her kiss on my lips. I felt her skin on top of mine. I felt her mashed breasts and the underwire of her bra digging into me, her warm mouth closing over my nipples and her fingers moving down my legs. I felt her inside of me. I felt the fullness of her, how much she had melted into me. I saw myself disappearing.

She had her foot on the door, holding it open. "You gonna go in?" she asked. "Brit?"

I looked across at her and Peter Rabbit jumped into my throat. Santana was smiling. Her smile was so beautiful. Her lips. Her mouth. Her tongue, peeking out. I could pull her body into mine and kiss her. Just kiss her. Just like that.

"Huh?" My one word instead.

"You coming in?" Her eyebrows shot up.

I nodded and followed her into room 1216 of the Holiday Inn downtown.

She shut the door and collapsed across the bed, kicking her heels off into the carpet as if they were darts. "God, I'm fucking tired!" Her leather jacket came unzipped. It landed beside her shoes on the floor. She stretched her arms up over her head with a sigh. "I wanna sleep forever!"

I watched as the fabric of her shirt rose up, a slat of caramel skin and the hint of her belly button peeking out. I walked over to the bed and picked up all of her stuff, clutching those dark pieces of her against my chest. "You should keep things clean," I told her. I hung her jacket over the desk chair and lay her heels in a line beneath it.

I heard Santana laugh at me. "You're worse than Ms. Pillsbury, Captain OCD of the S.S. McKinley. I caught her in the hallway once scrubbing one of the water fountains with a toothbrush. I swear I went to class and, like an hour later, she was still at it."

"Well, maybe she feels safer when things aren't a mess all around her," I said quietly.

Santana sat up, making a face at me. "Yeah, okay."

I turned away from her to gaze out the window. The view was terrible. Downtown Lima. All I could see was a blue-gray sky and a parking lot, dotted with little cars that looked like they should have been toys.

"Sorry," Santana said. "I didn't mean that you were like _her_ and fucked-up or anything."

"I don't care," I told the window. I watched one of the little toy cars get a person inside of it and drive away. "Santana?"

"What?"

I turned around to face her. She was sitting Indian-style on the bed, the fluffy white sheets bunched up under her. "Why are we at a hotel?" I asked.

"I'm staying here now. Since Friday morning," she said, as if she were talking about the weather or math class or how big a bathtub was instead. "I stole my mom's credit card and brought some of my stuff here. But honestly, Brit, it is so not hot living out of your book bag. I mean, just look at my hair," she said, flicking a hand towards her head. "And I'm trying! Anyways, I thought you could join me for a while at Hospederia Fiesta. It could be like a bad movie or something, right?"

"Santana..." Her name slipped from my lips and left behind a burn.

_"Santana, Santana, Santana..."_

And then I couldn't stop thinking it. She was in my brain. There was nothing but her inside of me. My chest rose and fell with a single heartbeat, a single breath. It felt like all 17 pounds of Lord Tubbington had jumped on top of me. I melted down to the floor in a rainbow puddle.

"Don't sit there," Santana remarked. "It's disgusting. You know that perverted Japanese men use these rooms to pick up hookers when they're in Ohio on business."

"I'm not sitting," I said quietly, squashing my palm against my chest. "My body's just attacking me."

"What?" Santana's face fell. She leaped off of the bed and tramped over to me, squeezing the fingers that I was still holding to my ribs. "Brittany, are you okay? Please be okay. Please." Her voice was suddenly serious. Her eyes grew wide. I could see the dark chocolate rings around their edges, her pupils expanding into black bowling balls. "Everything's fine, okay? Don't worry." She took my chin in her curved palm and smiled at me. "I was just joking. I'm not really staying here. Come on now. My parents' have a fucking mansion and my bedroom has its own security system. Why would I wanna live at a Holiday Inn?"

"You're lying."

She opened her mouth and nothing came out and I knew I was right.

The stupid fist came back into my throat, punching, punching, punching. But I wasn't gonna cry. I was so tired of crying. I grabbed Santana's arm instead, slamming my body into hers. I kissed her as hard as I could. I kissed her like I was trying to glue myself to her forever. I heard her gasp as her head hit the carpet, moaning loudly as my tongue slipped in between her teeth and socked her.

She tasted different from the other times. She tasted more like me now, like _my_ Lip Smackers and _my_ peanut butter sandwiches and the apple juice I'd had at breakfast.

I pulled away and swallowed. My throat was clear.

"Jesus, Brittany," Santana muttered with a heavy breath. "I told you these floors were dirty." She lay there for a moment then peeled herself off of the carpet, stumbling back over to the bed.

I tackled her before she could get anywhere, running her hips into the wall and pinning her wrists against its cold surface. Her body made a SLAP noise as it hit. "Feel something!" I yelled at her. "Why don't you feel anything, Santana?" I dug my knee into the V of her open legs.

She let out a tiny noise, staring at me with eyes full of fear. I pushed harder. She hung her head into my shoulder and started to cry and all of the colors in my rainbow coat exploded.


	53. Chapter 53

**Thanks again to the new reviewers! There should only be two more chapters after this one. And, to those wondering, yes I write using a lot of symbolism. I hope you've been able to pick up on it :)**

**Chapter 53**

"I'm gonna take a shower," Santana said gently, drawing herself away from me. "My hair's approaching 'Avatar'-levels of disaster."

She didn't laugh at her joke. Her eyes didn't even spark. She wiped at the smeared mascara running down her face in black scratches then slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. It made a quiet kiss.

I fell back onto the carpet, pressing my back against the wall. I could feel the cold, cheap wallpaper. I could feel the other side of the room tearing through me. My spine ached, but I didn't go anywhere. Why couldn't I push myself all the way through?

I stared at Santana's jacket across the room, her shoes that I'd placed under the desk. Her book bag was on top of the aircon unit. It was off now for winter and a steady hiss of heat was blowing through instead.

"You're not working," I whispered to my turtle necklace, stabbing an index finger into his back. "Why aren't you helping her?"

I sat there for a moment, thinking maybe he'd say something back to me, the way that Charity did sometimes when she thanked me for feeding her. Her meow was a voice. Her meow had words.

But the glass turtle didn't meow.

I dug my palms into the carpet and brought myself to my feet. I padded over to Santana's stuff, letting my fingers drift over her jacket. It felt so weird. It felt like a body that didn't have any blood on the inside. Why did people wanna go around wearing dead animals? Did it make them feel safer, to hide under something else's skin?

"I wish you would help yourself, Santana," I said to it. "'Cuz I can't. And my turtle can't either."

I grabbed at the leather sleeve, tugging it into my chest and letting Santana's jacket come off of the chair and into my hands. When I breathed hard enough I could smell her. I could feel her lying next to me. She fell into my chin and I buried my nose in her stiff and soft wrinkles, in her other skin.

The clock on the nightstand read 11:16.

_11:16._

What was my dad doing right now? What was he watching on TV?

_11:17._

From the bathroom I heard the shower come on, the lines of water crashing and pounding along the tub. And then Santana started singing. She was loud, too loud, but her voice was clear and she was crying. I could hear it in every popped note.

_"The winter's really here now_

_And the blankets that I love_

_Sometimes I am surrounded_

_By too much love..."_

I clutched Santana's jacket to my cheek, breathing her in one last time. Watermelon and perfume. I placed her back on the chair, carefully easing her short black arms over the sides and letting them hang in the air in front of me. My sneakers came untied and I set them beside Santana's. Black. White. Black. White. I stared at them until the colors blurred to gray, then I walked towards the bathroom and opened the door.


	54. Chapter 54

**Okay, so THIS is now officially the most intense chapter. Had a hell of a time trying to write this one, hence the delay.**

**Chapter 54**

My brain didn't have any thinking left inside of it. I slipped off everything, my coat and my sweater, my pants and my socks. I stood there in my blue bra and my Monday underwear. I stood there on the cool, white plastic tiles as Santana sang into her own tears.

I stared at the toilet beside me. On the water closet was a three-quarters-empty bottle of Bacardi, the cap loose and jagged.

I rubbed a finger over my turtle's foot.

_Good luck, good luck, good luck._

My bra came unlatched, tugged off of my shoulders and pooled to the floor like water. The roundness of my breasts deflated just a little, the air bringing my nipples to a point and then swallowing them back to normal. My breathing quickened. I tore off my underwear and slid aside the shower curtain.

"Brittany, what the fuck?" Santana exclaimed, bending into the wall and wrapping her arms across her chest.

But I could still see her. I could see everything, all of the marks her mother had left behind.

"I heard you," I said over the roar of the shower. "You were singing that Stevie Nicks song again and crying."

"So you just decided to take your clothes off and jump in here with me?" she shouted.

I could see everything, even through the steam. Her straight, caramel line of a body. Her skinny legs and the bones that came out of her pelvis so perfectly. The muscles of her biceps, bulging ever so slightly as she hugged herself.

I took a step forward, my bare feet sliding up along hers. I pulled her arms away from her breasts and held them out in front of me. Santana's eyes fell, her chin sinking into her shoulder, into a tangle of wet black hair. I pressed my stomach into hers.

"Get off me," she hissed.

I could feel the vibration of her lips on my skin, but her body didn't move. Her hands didn't strike me.

"Get off me, Brittany," she repeated.

Her arm came out this time. She jerked, elbowing me in the side. I grabbed it, I grabbed her, smashing her hips along my own. We fit into each other like Lego blocks. SNAP.

She looked up at me, her lower lip quaking. She looked so young without her makeup on. Her eyes seemed so small and so far away. It was wrong what I was doing. It was mean.

I swiveled her around, rolling my arm over her chest and gripping her across the ribcage. I pushed her forward, my breasts smashed along her spine, the backs of her thighs rocking against my knees. A cloud of mist burst out to surround us, but I could still see everything, everything she didn't want me to see. My fingers danced over the ring of bruises on Santana's hip.

"Stop it," Santana plead, her low growl of a voice drowned out by the shower.

I lodged my stomach into the purple marks. I covered her like a blanket. The water from the showerhead pounded along my shoulders as I forced Santana into the side wall. I was waiting for a fist. I was waiting for her to punch me in the arm and escape. But she cocked her hip to follow me instead. "You're still beautiful," I spoke into her ear. "Even like this."

"Shut up," she cried, her voice filling up with tears. "Just stop it."

I placed my leg between hers, pushing her feet apart. I slid my hand down her stomach, grazing the thin line of black hair between her thighs. She'd just shaved. I could feel the prickly points stabbing me as I pressed deeper.

Santana's head came back with a moan. She threw an arm up and backwards, digging her nails into my neck and gripping me in a scratch. A firework shot through me. She was in me again. She was all of me. Her fingers trailed upwards, twisting themselves through my hair. She tugged at it as if she were searching for the perfect spot to stay put and, as her nails hit that hollow space at the back of my neck, I gasped.

She arched her back, her foot rising to rest on the edge of the bathtub. I heard her knee crash into the tiles of the wall.

"Are you okay?" I breathed, my words barely audible over the hum of the shower.

She didn't answer. I wasn't sure if it was 'cuz she hadn't heard me, or that she just didn't care to respond.

"Santana?" I asked, if only to feel her name on my tongue, if only to be able to swallow down a part of her.

Her hand smashed into mine. "Fuck me," she whispered. She squeezed my wrist and guided me inside of her, bending my index and middle fingers so forcefully I thought she might break them in half. I felt her short nails clawing as she shoved me inside of her. And then she cried out again, "Fuck," and my name, "Brittany," breathed in a tiny whimper. She clenched me with her thighs as tightly as she could without allowing her foot to slip off of the bathtub. She was warm and wet, and the water streaming out of the showerhead went cool by comparison.

She groaned as I moved my fingers in and out, hard and fast the way I knew that she wanted it. She fell forward. Her chin struck the wall, her rough sighs bleeding all over it. I buried my face in her wet hair. She smelled different, like hotel shampoo. It burned my nose and set me on fire.

"Don't stop," Santana said, exhaling loudly as I curved my fingers in deeper.

I wrapped my left arm over her breasts to hold her in place. Her arm slid out of my hair and down the tiles, leaving behind the hot streaks of five fingertips. She was bent over now. She couldn't stand up, my hand thrusting harder and harder until she grabbed at the fingers I had draped across her breast. She gripped them in a tiny fist and brought them to her mouth. When she bit down, I felt it through every inch of my body, the space between my legs flooded with little sparks. I swallowed her shoulder in a kiss and the clean, sweet water from her shower bled across my tongue.

Her ass struck my thighs in a slap. "Don't stop," she whimpered, her slim fingers left curled around my own.

She held my heartbeat in both of our hands. She couldn't let go.

I pushed myself inside of her as far as my knuckles would let me, the tip of my water-soaked thumb dancing across the outside place between her legs. I knew how to make a girl come, grinding my thumb down deeper and deeper until Santana arched her back into me and cried out like her body was dying. The sound of her moan, spit along the tile walls, made me grab for her in a panic.

She pulled me down with her to the bottom of the tub. The water came rushing out upon our shoulders like bullets. I squeezed my eyes shut, rolling us both into an almost-dry corner.

Santana panted. She gripped my arms and forced herself into me, curled like a ball along my stomach. She was hot and soft and wet. Her fingers tore at my skin as if she wanted to make herself a part of mine. "Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you, Brittany."

I ran one hand down the length of her hair. She started crying and the sound was so loud that I thought I was being shot, and I couldn't tell the difference anymore between the shower's bullets and Santana's tears.


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter 55**

She gave up, defeated in my arms as the water rained cold upon our bare backs. I felt her shivering. She shook against my stomach, but she wouldn't let go. She wouldn't ask me to leave.

I slid a chunk of her wet hair away from her cheek. "I'm gonna turn it off now," I whispered into her ear.

"Okay," she answered.

And that one word struck my collarbone and it felt like a kiss.

I reached up and behind to twist the faucet to a stop. All of a sudden there was no more pressure, no more bullets coming out to kill us. I sat there for a moment with my hand on the knob and my knees bent into my breasts, staring up at the tiny empty pinholes of the showerhead.

Santana's teeth started chattering. She was still curled there at my back in a brown and black circle. She drew her arm out, reaching for me. Her fingers struck my thigh. They looked like golden raisins that had been out in the sun too long.

I rolled myself up and out of the tub, sliding the curtain open. On the metal towel bars were two stiff white towels. I grabbed at one. It slipped free in a WHOOSH, hanging in the air for a moment then flapping alongside the toilet.

"Santana?" I asked.

Her head was down, hidden inside of the valley between her legs.

"Santana, come on," I spoke softly, more gently this time.

She stumbled to her feet, her shins colliding with the corner of the bathtub. She rubbed at one of them then stepped over the edge. Her heels hit the floor with a thud. She quickly wrapped her arms over her chest, her palms gliding down and falling over her bruises. They looked even brighter in the harsh bathroom light, even darker than before.

"It's okay," I said, quickly stepping in to throw the towel over the two of us.

It was way too small. It was something that a kid would use. I jammed my body into hers and tugged the fabric anyway, as tight as it would go. Maybe it would get bigger, like what happened to sea monkeys when water hit them. Maybe the towel was like a square, cotton sea monkey.

Santana looked up at me, her cheeks somehow pale and pink at the same time. Her eyes sank inside of their sockets. She was looking at me as if _she_ was the one who had done something wrong, as if _she _needed to be reprimanded. It was the opposite of the locker look. It was a look that told me she was unlocking herself instead.

She took a breath and I could smell the rum. Our lips were so close. Everything was so close. Her hair was a tangled mess, dripping its way down the middle of my breasts. Santana kicked me with her toes. She ran her foot into my calf.

"You still have my boots," she whispered in a scratchy voice.

"Yeah..." I began, sighing under my breath as her knuckles bent themselves at my sides. "But they won't go anywhere. Don't worry. They can't walk away 'cuz your feet aren't inside of them."

She gave me a shard of a smile, grabbing my hips beneath the towel and pulling me into her. Her hot breath landed on my cheek. She didn't have to lean in very far to kiss me. She didn't have to lean in at all. Her warm lips fell on top of mine, swallowing up everything I'd already given her. I swallowed back as her teeth grazed my skin, carving out a deep and quiet line.

"Please don't ever go away, Brittany," she begged. "Please."

I couldn't tell her that parts of me were already gone, and I couldn't say no. Not to her. Not then. I dragged us out of the bathroom instead, our feet crashing into each other as they tumbled over the dirty carpet.

We sat on the bed with the hotel robes on. I toweled Santana's hair dry as she closed her eyes and made a tiny moaning sound.

"You'd make a good mother," she said quietly. "I mean, if we both weren't sixteen."

I watched her full lips close, the words inside of her mouth hitting the air then fading away. I _am_ a mother, I thought. But I didn't think Santana meant for cats.

She didn't say anything more. She didn't joke around or hurl insults at the wall like she usually would have. I felt her breath land on my arm, light and warm. I brushed her ears and her eyebrows with the edge of the towel, then massaged away the sketch of water still shimmering along her jaw.

"You should join Glee Club," I told her.

"No fucking way," she hissed. Her thigh was next to mine, pressing tight. Her robe had come open slightly and she dug her wet foot into my ankle. "I'm not a loser."

_"I'm not a loser."_

And then suddenly she was back to normal, the usual Santana.

I wiped the last few beads of water from her cheek, clutching the towel in my lap. "You'd be happier," I said. "It'd make you happy if you could sing everyday. I think you'd feel better, like taking medicine or something."

She gave me a dark, guttural laugh. "Right. And I'll go see Ms. Pillsbury after school too and tell her all about my fucked-up life. Then she can rattle off a bunch of information about Social Services to me while swabbing her desk with Q-tips. No thanks."

I bit my lip, running a palm over the towel, the sharp smell of the Holiday Inn shampoo gathering along my lifelines. I looked down and saw Santana's hand come in. She set it on my moving fingers, quieting them.

"Quinn Fabray's in Glee Club," she said.

"Yeah." I looked up into Santana's tired eyes. "But I won't let her say anything to you. I promise."

"Like she'd even try," she scoffed. "I'd kick her ass."

"I know," I said, grinning. "Or slash her with your vicious, vicious words."

"Damn straight."

"Still..." I replied, squeezing the towel in my lap. "If you join Glee Club, I'll keep you safe. Like Robin."

"Robin?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "From Batman? Robin sucks," Santana said. "He never did anything cool. He was just Batman's twink lover."

My gaze fell on Santana's robe, coming looser and looser at her waist. I could see the dark space between her breasts. I could see the ring of bruises on her stomach that I had touched only a short time before.

"Well, I promise anyway," I said softly. "Even if I suck."

Our eyes met and it was just like that moment in those old black and white movies right before something really big happened. Like a plane crash. Or a gunshot.

"You don't suck, Brittany," Santana said in a rough voice. "I..." She paused, her mouth making some slight movement that would never produce any sound.

I gave her a smile. "You don't have to say anything," I told her. "I know how you feel."

She looked down, down at the robe covering her boy legs, down at her swinging brown toes. "So if I come with you, you'll take care of me? And you won't quit and leave me stranded?" Santana raised her arm, curling her pinky into a little smile. "You promise?" she asked. She held it out for me. She left it hanging there in the air.

I curled my own pinky around hers. They made a knot. They made a circle that was two different colors.

And, into our naked skin, I whispered: "I promise."


	56. Author's Note

**Wow, thank you for all of the awesome reviews, especially regarding my writing style! :)**

**To address your questions about a sequel...sorry, but I have no plan to do that. I feel like the mood of this story has passed and anything more would be anticlimactic. Plus I am working on a novel right now which I DESPERATELY need to finish. I really wanna write more Brittana though in the near future, so I'm sure that I will. It won't be a sequel to this particular story though.**

**Songs used in "2 Little Girls:"**

**1) "Nightbird"- Stevie Nicks**

**2) "Poison and Wine"- The Civil Wars**

**3) "Remember Your Name"- Karima Francis**

**And the two songs I played on a loop while writing this:**

**1) "White Blank Page"- Mumford & Sons**

**2) "Breathless"- Emm Gryner**

**I highly recommend you listen to all of these, that is if you enjoy depressing the fuck out of yourself. Hahaha ;)**

**-Judy **


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